Lucky Charms
by Joel182
Summary: With a chance being slim to anorexic, he'll bet it all on a man famous for losing. UNDERPUNK. SLASH WARNING! Enjoy XD
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE NAMES USED IN THIS STORY. THEY ARE PURELY OWNED BY THE WWE. I ONLY OWN THE PLOT. ENJOY! **

*-*-*

PROLOGUE 

In the entirety of the WWE Universe, there is one man known to be harboring the worst kind of luck that rivals bad luck itself. And that man is Mark Callaway. Or as the followers of the show have dubbed him – The Undertaker. Already past forty five, most wrestlers with such a prestigious legacy as Mark's would either retire early or be living very comfortable lives that could last them many more generations. Mark, unfortunately, was not famous for being a miser. He gave away money as if it was rain. It was a habit he developed at some point -the logical term being gambling. Mark Callaway was a heavy gambler. And he wasn't any good at it.

After losing close to fifty thousand dollars, Mark decided to call it quits for the night. //Damn. Luck really hates me.// He pulled out a empty pack of mints and let out a low growl. //And I'm hungry too. Maybe I should have bought some food with that money.// He scratched the back of his neck in thought as he walked down the dark, lonely sidewalks. It was a Saturday to boot, which meant no friends to bunk with. He had a hotel room, but he hadn't been in it for over a week, and even now was beginning to question that. //Come to think of it I don't even know where my hotel is.// Automatically he reached into his right back pocket only to get a handful of nothing. //Damn it where's my phone?// After doing a pseudo three-sixty, Mark sighed and continued on his way. With his luck, he was heavily certain that his phone was either stolen or gambled – the latter sounding a bit more correct.

Tired, frustrated, and hungry, Mark walked into a nearby night club. It was still open for business. //Finally something good happened.// His thoughts had not even fully matured as no sooner was his foot through the door that he realized exactly what type of club he had walked into. In one simple description: Men were everywhere. The only thing that resembled a female was a poster sized drink ad that hung on the wall behind the bar area. The sight did not completely shock Mark, however he wasn't expecting it and it showed clearly on his face. His brother Glenn often told him of these kinds of places, but he had never stepped foot inside one before tonight. An outcast feeling washed over him as he tried to avoid the on lookers as they stared at him, questioning his obvious I-don't-belong-here-aura. Mark simply closed his dark green eyes, took a deep breath and then walked over to the bar once his eye lids lifted. He sat down and stared at the dance floor a few meters ahead.

"What'll it be?"

Mark's eyes did not leave the crowd of dancing people //They look like a bunch of groupies on a high.// The sound of a throat clearing and glass hitting wood, Mark turned to face the bar tender.

In that instant, both men dropped jaws at each other. Mark all but flew out of his seat in shock. The man was clad in purple suspenders attached to skin tight black pants. He was topless. His normally wild black locks were slicked back in true Elvis fashion. The Pepsi tattoo gave the man away.

*-*-*


	2. A Chance Meeting

For what seemed to be an eternity, Mark had forgotten how to use his tongue and form a sentence. Or even a syllable. He quickly composed himself – he had been hanging off the edge of the bar stool for a while now – and stared deadpan at the shocked expression plastered on the bartender's face.

"Not that I really care, but why -"

A shrill voice cut in, "Why are you here?!" The bartender pointed squarely at Mark, "W-Why?!"

Mark paused before letting out a heavy sigh, "So this is that part time job Jeff went on about huh?"

"What?"

A sly smile crossed Mark's face. "The little Hardy with the big mouth. He told me if I needed a second job as part time then I should work at one of these places." He chuckled lightly, "Seeing you here, it looks like I really shouldn't."

"Listen, why are you here anyways? I thought you were-"

"I am." Mark's eyes went cold. His tone flat lined. "Jokes aside, why are you here Phil?"

Phillip Brooks. The man was the straight-edge superstar of the WWE. He didn't smoke, drink or do drugs. It was a sheer wonder how he ended up with a polar opposite as his best friend. Jeff Hardy made his career out of the lifestyle Phillip – Phil as many had come to shorten his name to – so adamantly stayed away from. To see that Phillip Brooks serving liquor at a gay bar in the dead of night clad in nothing but skin tight jeans and suspenders would shock the people who knew the man otherwise. Mark was no exception. Although having never really held meaningful dialogue with Phil, Mark knew the man after listening to Jeff talk about him in full detail. Calaway opted to not get close to Phillip, simply because the man did not interest him in anyway. However, with techno music blaring in his ear drums, surrounded by a school of dancing gay men, and looking at the Elvis impersonator standing before him, Mark suddenly felt a slight tinge of interest towards Phillip Brooks. The man was more than what he chose to let on.

Phil's blue eyes shifted nervously as Mark stared dead on at him. //Oh crap! Why did Mark have to see me?! Why?! Out of everyone else why him?!// His face lit up, "I-I work here."

Mark let out a hearty laugh, "Wow! And I thought I was the only one hard up for cash!"

Phil shot him an ineffective glare – that evolved into highly ineffective once his childish pout quickly followed, "I'm not! I-I just have my reasons for working here, that's all."

Mark's smile dropped, "I see." He ran his deep greens over Phil's nervous expression. "Well I'm dead broke and to hell if I still have a hotel room to go back to." A large grin slid across his face, "So how about it Punk?"

"Huh?" Confusion sat on Phil's face and seeped into his words, "How about what?"

"Loan me a blanket, and a space to sleep on for the night at your place." Mark shrugged, "Maybe longer."

//D-Did he just ask me to -// The blush present on his face spread and the shade deepened. //I don't believe this!// He chewed on his lip ring in thought, "Well..."

Mark leaned in closer to Phil's face – causing the younger man to shift away. "Come on. I'll do anything. I really need a spot to lie on. Hell the floor's okay."

//This is one chance I can't pass up.// "All right!"

Mark smiled as he leaned back on the stool, "Good man."

"But!" Mark cocked an eyebrow as Phil beamed a triumphant smile, "You have to be my pet."

"Come again?"

"I-I'll let you stay, for as long as you like and even give you food and a bed, but you have to _promise_ to be my pet."

//Pet? Is he kidding me?!// Mark frowned heavily, "Like a sex pet or something?" He smirked deviously, and scoffed sardonically "No way in hell."

"No!" Phil's voice strummed on desperation, "I won't be asking you for any sex. I know how you are about that, but you just have to be my pet."

"I'm not a dog Phil."

"I can see that Mark."

Mark titled his chin slightly upwards, signaling a slight peak in interest "So what _would_ I be doing?"

"Nothing much really. Just keeping me company and other pet things." Phil's eyes lit up dangerously, "I'll even take you for walks, and feed you, and shampoo your hair."

//This guy is insane!// Mark scoffed, "Wow, between you and Hardy , I can't tell who's doing more drugs." He gave a dry laugh, "Well, thanks, but no thanks Phil. I like being a human _just_ fine."He stood to his feet.

Phil stepped forward, "Where are you going to go then?"

Mark stopped dead in his tracks. His heavy brows casting a thick shadow over his eyes as he looked down blankly at Phil. Phil shifted away uncomfortably as he tried to get an idea of what Mark was thinking. However, his lack of facial expression deemed the feat impossible. Mark narrowed his eyes at Phil. //Are you kidding me? Let this be a lesson Mark. Never gamble again!//

"Three months." Mark's voice hit gravel as he sat back down on the bar stool. "I'll do this pet thing for three months and then I'm gone, and we _never, ever_ talk about it. After I leave, you don't come near me and I won't go near you. Got it?"

"Okay." Phil smiled and reached under the bar table pulling out a glass. He placed it ahead of Mark. "What will it be then?"

"I'm dead broke remember."

"Don't worry." Phil chuckled lightly, "It's on the house."

*-*-*


	3. Turn Right After Go

*-*-*

Two weeks ago, Mark Calaway – notorious gambler and no good at it – stumbled into a gay bar on his quest for a place to rest his head. Along came straight-edged, young and talented fellow wrestler Phillip Brooks – the bartender at said bar – and Mark's wishes were granted. It was the one stroke of luck Calaway had gotten in a long time, and it was a perfect set up - even with the outrageous pet condition.

However, nothing is perfect. And this was no different. The situation that both men currently found themselves in was proving to be far from perfect. So far, in fact, that one could no longer see perfect's coastline.

Being a versatile type of guy, Mark had eased into his new environment. As promised, he was given a bed, food was brought to him daily, and he even got a cool entertainment system set up in his bed room. In exchange, Mark moseyed around the apartment trailing Phil at almost every passing second, watched TV with the younger man, ate dinner with Phil occasionally when his schedule permitted it, and had recently taken a walk in the park with the guy.

However, Mark was no obedient pet. It had taken Phil forever to get the older man out of the house to walk with him, and it was hell to get Mark out of the bed during the day because the man was a heavy sleeper. Furthermore, bath time mirrored a day in Hell, as Mark liked to take long, long, long baths that had even stretched to over three hours of soaking in the tub. Phil planted his foot down, but Mark simply shrugged him off and ignored him. To add insult to injury, Phil's apartment was small to say the least, and Calaway stuck out like a sore thumb. The door frames hung too low and occasionally Mark would knock his head into them. This resulted in a few curse words, and a very angry Mark for the remainder of the day. Calaway's entire muscular frame would take up most of the rooms he stood in leaving little to no space for Phil. As for their daily lives, Mark left early at nights only to return at unholy hours of the morning. This caused a rift for Phil's daily life as he would work at nights, come home a little late to get adequate sleep before heading out to train for the next show. Due to Mark's untimely comings and goings that held no sort of pattern whatsoever, Phil was only able to garner a maximum of two to three hours sleep instead of his usual six plus hours.

*-*-*

Another episode of Smack Down came to a close. Phil dragged his heavy feet into the locker room and sighed heavily as he opened his locker. //He's probably out again. I wonder if I'll get any sleep tonight!// His closed fist hit the locker hard, stunning most of the guys in the room. Phil slid down and sat on the bench below.

"Nothing's changed." Phil hung his head low. "It's been two weeks and nothing's changed."

A lively voice cut in, "Hey Phil, what are you mumbling about?"

Phil slid his weary eyes over to the man now seated beside him. "I got a pet Jeff."

Jeff's smile lit up along with his eyes, "A pet?! That's so cool! What kind of pet is it?"

"Uh..." //I can't tell him it's Mark! Why did I open my mouth?// "I-It's a dog."

"Is it a he or a she? And what's its name?"

"Um... it's a he and his name is...T-Tazz."

"Tazz?" Phil tensed. "That's really original Philly. Good for you." Jeff patted the man playfully on his rigid shoulder, "So where did you get him?"

"Uh... he's a stray. He has nowhere to go so I took him in."

"I see." Jeff gave a series of slow nods as if to add wisdom to his words, "So what seems to be the problem?"

//Thank God he's an idiot.// "Well," Phil sighed defeated, "I took him in about two weeks ago, and I've been trying to build some sort of relationship you know, but he's so stubborn and won't listen to anything I say!" His annoyance weighed heavily on his face, "He sleeps all day, uses all the water in one bath, ignores me twenty four seven, and on top of that he goes out and comes back at five in the morning!"

"Goes out?" Jeff cocked an eyebrow. "How?"

"Uh..." Phil scanned the floor for answers, "I leave the door open sometimes... and he goes out."

"Oh." Jeff nodded, "I get it now."

Phil tried desperately to hide the relief he suddenly felt. //Gotta choose my words carefully here.// A flash of concern crossed Jeff's eyes as he shifted closer to his friend.

"Are you taking care of him?"

"Of course I am!" He grabbed his loud voice and toned it down quickly, "I give him food, shelter and clothing." Jeff cocked an eyebrow. Phil glanced back at the floor. "Figuratively speaking. I try to communicate with him constantly. And I even gave him my bed while I sleep on the couch."

"Wow." Jeff's eyes widened to showcase his surprise, "All that for a stray? I never knew you were so nice Philly."

Phil looked up at his friend with a weak smile on his face, "Yeah, well, this one's sorta special." He heaved a loud sigh, his faint smile dropping quickly "I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Sometimes I think I probably shouldn't have taken him in. It's been two weeks already and he's still cold and distant."

Jeff gave his friend a quick pat on the shoulder, "Try and look at it from Tazz's perspective. He just got whisked off into an unfamiliar environment, and is being treated like a king all of a sudden. Dogs tend to sense things Philly." He looked ahead for a moment as if something was suddenly there, before dropping his attention back on Phil. "He's probably thinking you're just going to abandon him like everyone else. He's just waiting on you to get fed up with him and kick him out. Or do something even worse."

"I would never do that."

A wide smile splashed across Hardy's face, "In that case, how about you do something he likes. Don't set any rules yet – it just looks like you're trying to get him to bend to your will or something. Just let him be and keep doing what you're doing, and try to read him. Little things make all the difference you know. If he likes to sleep for all eternity, never try to wake him up. If he ignores you just don't give him any attention."

"But how would that help Jeff?"

"It's your place. Your environment. You're already used to it. He's not. So let him come to you. If he wants to take a walk he'll have to bring the leash. Stop force feeding him and let him feed himself, in a sense."

Phil stared at his friend analyzing what was said. //So I've got to just leave him alone, and let him make the first move.// He stifled back a deep scoff that threatened to come up. //Well it can't hurt to try.//

"I'll give it a try Jeffy."

Jeff beamed an accomplished smile, "Good!" He leaned towards Phil's ear, "Oh and remember you can't call me Jeffy so causally anymore. If Matt hears he'll get mad."

Phil chuckled, "Okay. I'll remember that."

*-*-*

In the WWE company employees who were not doing anything – meaning they were not part of any script – were allowed to take lengthy vacations until they were called back once more. This explained Mark Calaway's current situation. After the 25th Anniversary of Wrestlemaina, Mark was given time off to focus on getting his legs up to speed, and generally continue with his training. However, Calaway was a hard head, and so he rarely visited his doctors for any check-ups, and the gym was another ghost town he barely visited.

Whenever his absences from both locations piled up to almost a month, Glenn Jacobs – the younger half-brother Mark treated like his own - would step in and take over. As of late Glenn had difficulty while trying to locate his brother, when a series of leads led him to a gambling house in the city that Smack Down was currently in. After working his way inside, Glenn found his brother sitting at the bar table and staring into space. He sat beside the older man putting on a stern front to hide his relief. Unbeknown to everyone, Mark Calaway worried Glenn to no ends.

"I'll have a shot of vodka, and a Jack Daniels for the guy here."

Annoyance sat in his deep jades as he slid them over to his right. Instantly all traces of annoyance vanished, "Glenn? What the hell are you doing here?"

After accepting the drinks from the bartender, Glenn turned to face Mark, and slid the glass of Daniels over to him. "Here." Mark's eyes didn't shift from Glenn as he watched the man quickly down his shot. "Wow! Good stuff."

"Why are you here?"

"Aren't you gonna drink?" He pointed at Mark's glass. "It's your favorite."

Mark's tone flat lined. "You know I don't, so answer my question."

Glenn sighed, "I'm here to take you to the doctors. And the gym."

Mark scoffed, "I was going."

"But you came here first." Mark nodded slightly. Glenn continued. "How much?"

Calaway's emeralds slid down to the glass of liquor as he idly traced the rim with his finger "Twenty." Glenn titled his chin upwards his arms folded across his chest. Mark looked up at him. "Twenty thousand."

"Fucking hell Mark!" Glenn slammed his hand down on the bar table, "You idiot! Why the hell did you give that much away?! Did you think you could win?!"

Mark downed on the liquor and slammed the empty glass on the table, "I can't help it. But putting that aside –"

"Fuck no!" Glenn glared angrily at his older brother, "I think we need to take you to a different doctor Mark. You've got a problem."

Mark clenched his jaw tightly. His jades pulsing with anger, and a deep frown craved into his forehead. "If you came all this way to feed me that crap again, then I suggest you get up and go back to wherever you came from before I ship you off there in a wooden box."

"As if you could pay for shipping." Mark glared at him. Glenn exhaled loudly to calm himself, "I called but your phone was out of service. I figured you either lost it or it was gambled, so I headed over to the bank and canceled all you cards." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet. "Here." He slid it over to Mark. "I did over everything. Your driver's license, credit cards, membership cards, everything. Plus I even got you a new wallet."

Mark picked up the wallet and stuffed it in his back pocket. A small smile graced his face, "Thanks ." It dropped instantly, "Did you transfer the money to my account yet?"

"It's not Tuesday yet Mark."

"Oh." Mark gave a light chuckle, "The apartment I'm in doesn't have any calendars. He said it's because he doesn't like to live according to 'scheduled days'."

"He?" Glenn's brow slowly rose as he raked over Mark's 'oh shit!' expression. A coy smirk sat on his lips, "How about you start from the top."

Mark heaved a deep sigh as he slumped over the bar table. //Crap. Why did I open my mouth?// He ran his heavily lidded eyes over the empty glass ahead in thought. //Well it's Glenn, so I guess it can't be helped.// With another deep sigh to motivate him, Mark sat up straight and turned to face his brother with a steely eyed look of determination flashing across his glassy emerald plains.

"I've been bunking with someone for two weeks now."

"Does this person have a name?"

Mark hesitated – scanning over Glenn's expression. "It's Phil."

"I know a lot of people named Phil, Mark." He leaned in closer, "So let's cut the bull huh."

Mark scoffed heavily with a cheeky smile on his face, "It's CM Punk."

It was all Glenn could do not to fall off his bar stool with the force that propelled his back. "_That_ Phil?! Why the hell are you bunking with him for?!" After a few silent seconds, Glenn toned down, "How much is he charging you?"

Mark gently scratched the back of his neck and clicked his teeth, "Actually he's letting me stay for free. In a sense."

"Okay." Confusion sat on the younger man's face, "Putting that aside, how the heck did Punk let you live with him?"

Sensing the tense tone underlining his brother's question, Mark raised a serious eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

To everyone who knew the man, Mark Calaway was impossible to live with. He wasn't rude, or noisy, or annyoing in anyway. If anything was to blame, it would most likely be the fact that Mark's shadow-like living drove the people he chose to stay with up the wall - he was such a nice guy that it morphed into a cold and distant attitude. It was because of this that Glenn found it quite admirable that Phillip Brooks could put up with Mark for two weeks.

Nonetheless, the main reason for Glenn's overall shocked reaction was Brooks himself. In truth it came as no surprise that Glenn had trouble believing that good will could actually be located inside the heart of Phillip Brooks. In fact, to many of the Smack Down – and even RAW – roster CM Punk was famous for being a bit on the cold side of life. However, they were the few that would say the man was overflowing with good will and was more of a saint than Mother Theresa. But in this case, Glenn's overall reaction stemmed from his sheer surprise that the latter people were probably more right about CM Punk's hidden personality. Nevertheless, if anything, to Glenn and everyone who knew the man in question, Phillip Brooks was a true mystery.

To hear that CM Punk had taken his intolerable older brother into his home, and for free to boot, was like seeing someone in this day and age fight with a mythical beast no one thought existed. For Glenn, knowing that Phillip was actually such a nice guy made him feel a tinge of self hate when he suddenly recalled a brief moment when he had labeled the younger man as being the spawn of the Devil.

"Hey? Are you gonna answer my question or what?"

Glenn blinked a few times to regain his composure. "Uh... wait. So you're living with Phil? Where?"

Mark stared at his brother before deciding to give up on any hope of an answer for his former question. "At his apartment. It's near here actually."

"Really? So he lives in an apartment. Why?"

"How would I know?" Mark slightly titled his head downwards, allowing his focused stare to burn holes into their target. "Why does that matter?"

"Well, since he's still part of WWE, he has to move around a lot remember. So I'm just shocked to learn that he has an apartment in this city." Glenn sighed in defeat. "Well, enough about that. Are you treating him okay?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mark slowly shook his head, "You know I don't row that way, so really why am I suddenly a threat to him?"

Glenn smirked deviously, "Oh cut the crap. Just make sure you don't 'accidentally' gamble him off like you did Jeff last summer."

Mark let out a deep throaty laugh, "That was pretty funny though."

"To you!" Glenn landed a playful smack upside his brother's head. Mark ceased laughing. "I was the one who had to go get him out of that situation before Matt came and tore off my balls!"

"Sorry. And no. I'm not going to do anymore human gambling, and I haven't done anything bad to Phil."

Glenn tone took a serious turn, "So how long are you gonna be living with him?"

"I'm not living with him." His tone flat lined. "I'm simply staying over at his place." He leaned back a bit. "And I'll be gone in three months."

"Three months?!" Glenn desperately tried to stifle the scornful laugh that threatened to surface. All his efforts proved futile, and he had to slap the bar table with his open palm to stop himself. "Then you really are living together Mark! Hell man! Not even I've lived with someone that long unless they were paying rent or something!"

Mark sneered, "Well call it whatever. He's letting me stay for three months and all I have to do in return is -" //Shit!// Mark bit his tongue hard to silence himself.

Glenn peered at the man egging him to continue. "Is? Is what?"

"Is... All I have to do really... is..." //Crap! I can't tell Glenn I'm Phil's pet! Think! Think!// "Keep house."

Glenn scoffed, "Keep house? Like babysit the place while he's gone or something?"

"Yeah."Mark beamed a thinned smile, "Babysit."

Glenn stared at Mark for a few seconds. The older man shadowed his jades with his heavy brow while returning Glenn's favor. The two simply locked intense eyes for a couple of silent seconds before Glenn decided to stand up and break the stare. It was always difficult to read Mark Calaway, but it was possible if you had the time. And Glenn did not.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay Mark." He landed a rigid pat on his brother's tattooed shoulder, "But you know you can always just stay with me."

"In a hotel room?" Mark let out a heated scoff, "No chance."

"Figures." Glenn threw down a folded one hundred dollar bill towards the bartender as he eyed the man, "It's on me." He glanced down at Mark before walking away – stopping after he got two steps in. "Oh, and since you're house sitting, shouldn't you be at the house you're watching over?"

Mark tensed a bit, but his overall tranquility did not falter, "I'll get over there in a few more minutes. Have to take a break every now and again you know."

"Right." Glenn resumed walking. He waved over his shoulder, "See ya."

The small smile had not left Mark's face until the bartender opened his mouth.

"So what'll it be?"

"No thanks." Lazy jades with a cold current coursing behind them shot up to the man, "I don't drink."

*-*-*


	4. A Fated Change For A Destined Situation

***-*-***

It was already past midnight when Phillip Brooks waltzed through the doors of his apartment. Once again he was greeted by deafening silence and as expected, his pet – Mark Calaway – was nowhere in sight. //Would it kill him to be here and greet me like a normal pet? I even dragged out my final shift so that he could get more time to come back here.// A soft sigh left Phil's lips as he collapsed almost instantly in his couch. The cushions provided a comforting embrace as he snuggled deeper into their soft clutches. //I may as well get some rest. He'll be here later anyways.//

The tenth sheep hadn't even been counted in Phillip's mind before the sound of the nearby phone ringing loudly pried him from his would-be deep slumber. //What? Why is it ringing?// He slowly stirred awake tearing his eyes open in annoyance as he glared at the phone sitting on the glass table ahead of him. It did a full three sixty as it knocked madly about on the table top. //Someone better be dying.// Upon recalling that Calaway was not in the apartment, Phil quickly took back the thought and answered the phone with haste.

"Hello?" His voice mumbled the word groggily.

"I heard you quit your job at that bar today."

//What?// A small frown craved into his head. "Huh?" Phil's blue eyes ran lazily over the phone screen only to have his gaze land on the word "Restricted". //Great. A prank caller. Just what I need.//Unhappy and scowling with disgust, Phil put the phone back on his ear. "Who the hell is this?"

"Aww Phil. That hurts. Do I really sound that different on the phone?" A soft chuckle crept into Phil's ear. "Or is it that you simply forgot the sound of my voice in your ear?"

The small frown grew, craving deep into Phil's forehead. "Listen to me you random nobody!" His voice tipped above a roar. "I am in no mood for your pranks right now, so -"

A flat tone cut in. "Does Mark always get back so late? He's not a very good roommate is he?"

Phil's breath stifled on a hitch. //W-What?! He knows about Mark?// His blue eyes glared at the blank TV in thought. //Calm down Phil. He called him 'roommate', so he doesn't know about the true arrangement. But the fact that he even knows that Mark is living here. Did Mark tell him?// He chewed on his lip ring that hung on his lower lip. //No. Mark wouldn't say anything. So who the hell is this guy?//

"Your silence is proof enough." Phil gritted his teeth. The caller continued. "Well whatever. I didn't call you in the middle of the night just to reiterate your life Phil."

"This is the last time I'm asking." He bit down hard to suppress the sudden feeling of fear that threatened to encompass him. "Who the hell are you?" His voice dipped into heavy gravel. "I'll give you one second to answer or else I'm hanging up."

"I thought you'd recognize your favorite client, but whatever." A sigh, "It's Adam."

Phil stared off into an unseen distance with cerulean eyes as wide as saucers. //Why is he calling me?// "H-How did you get this number?!"

"I have my ways. And is that really what you should be worried about Phil?"

Phil clenched his jaw tightly. "I told you to stay the hell away from me. We had an agreement. "

"Yeah we did. I promised to keep quiet as long as you kept funding me for the year. And you have. Thank you so much Phil."

"So if you know all that why are you calling me?"

"I know what happened between you and Mark." A long pause followed allowing the information to slowly set into Phil's now whitewashed mind. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna do something stupid like tell Mark, but I want something in return for my generosity."

Phil glared ahead in annoyance, "More money? Just tell me the amount and you'll have it before the sun rises."

"Money? Nah. I've got enough of that. What I want is what you're selling Phil."

//Selling?// Phil's brows creased in thought only to spring upwards in a dramatic fashion shortly after. "I quit that job. You of all people should know that."

"I know. You left the job years ago. However, whether or not you're employed there anymore is of no concern to me because I want it for free."

"Bastard!" Phil shot upright and screamed into the phone, "You think I'm gonna just do as you say at the drop of a hat?! You have no fucking_ idea _how much that life messed me up! I finally escaped after sacrificing everything I had and you think I'm gonna go back down into that hole?!"

"You will because I have a big mouth that has no discretion whatsoever when it comes to the people it speaks to."

"Fuck you Edge! Everyone knows already! They were all fucking there!"

"Everyone except for the one you truly care about. And that is Calaway. Can you imagine if he found out? Not only would he hate you for life, he'd murder you the minute you get in range."

//I don't believe this.// Deflated and drained of strength, Phil dropped back down onto his couch with lifelessness behind his actions. His line of vision completely vanished into a different realm that no one could hope to follow.

"How many?" His voice was low so as to project a faux air of calmness and control.

A short laugh escaped Edge, "I'm only free for a month, so I say let's just have ten. No, make that twenty. Yeah twenty."

"Twenty." Phil scoffed softly, "Almost one per day."

"Yeah. I'll give you a call whenever I need it. You just be prepared. Oh and this time I don't want any time limits. Okay?"

"I have work Edge."

"Okay. Fine. One hour."

"Whatever." Phil sighed heavily, "Goodbye."

Without waiting for a response, Phil quickly hung up his phone. He glared harshly at it and flung it into the wall ahead. It smashed into pieces upon impact. //Shit!// Phil stood up letting the wild black, loose curls atop his head hang lifelessly over his face, partially shielding his tear-stricken eyes. //Shit!// The couch was the first thing to hit the counter a few feet away. It somersaulted onto the granite finish. In another instant the television was dragged off its stand and fed to the hard floor beneath only to be mercilessly stomped on by an angry Phil. Everything not nailed to the wall or floor within range of Phil was thrown everywhere, battered, broken, and then stomped on for good measure. The adrenaline that had pumped through his veins vanished as instantly as it had arrived leaving Phil crumpled like a crushed soda can on the glass-shard covered floor. The impact from the fall drove a couple of the sharper pieces into his face, exposed left arm and even pierced his shirt and stuck in his side. However, Phil felt nothing. He didn't even have the energy to do that.

***-*-***

It was two am by the time Mark finally found his way to the apartment. After much deliberation as to where the apartment was located and even at one point deciding to go and spend the night in a hotel somewhere nearby but giving up after realizing he was yet again dead broke, Mark stared at the door with weary jades. Despite having downed enough booze to kill a large population of humans, Mark was still very much clear minded and sober. After living with an alcoholic for nearly all his life, Mark had somehow gained resistance to being drunk. He stared at the door for a while. //Should I go in? Crap. I don't wanna be here.// He sighed heavily. //Well, he is giving me food. And a bed. But why isn't he fed up yet? Can't he tell I'm purposely making his life hell?// His jades darkened slightly beneath the heavy shadow cast by his brows. //The more I instigate, the nicer he becomes. It makes me look like a total anal bead.// He scoffed to no one in particular and opened the door. //Well if that's how he's gonna play, I've got a few more tricks up my sleeve. If he thinks I can suddenly grow a conscience and change into this 'pet' he wants, he can take that idea and -//

The first thing his now widened emeralds landed on was the layer of protruding glass pieces that decorated the hardwood floor. The second thing was the fact that the apartment he had left looking like something out of an IKEA magazine suddenly resembled the aftermath of ten simultaneous tornadoes. The third thing was the awkward position of the couch as it almost seemed to be attempting to climb over the counter top but stopped halfway. The last thing to register in Mark's now beyond confused state of mind was the sight of an unconscious Philip Brooks lying on the floor.

"Shit! Phil!" Mark slammed the door shut behind him and sprinted over the smaller man. "Hey Phil! Wake -"

He ceased his sudden movements upon seeing the glass that ate away at Phil's entire left half. The floor beneath him had small puddles of blood and his shirt was drenched on the left in the red stuff. //Gotta move him carefully.// After taking a few moments to assess, Mark opted to simply carry Phil in his arms mirroring the fashion that a man would carry his bride. The sound of glass breaking beneath his steel-toed boots made Mark cringe a bit when thinking about the pieces of glass still stubbornly sticking to Phil.

The older man opened his room door and gently laid Phil's limp body onto the well-made bed. //He re-made the bed huh.// A tray with a small cover over it sitting on top of the nearby night table momentarily diverted Mark's attention. A piece of paper flapping atop the covering was what Mark eventually picked up.

"Came back during lunch time. Guess I just missed you. Here's some food for you in case you get hungry. Phil." Mark slowly dropped his eyes down to the man on the bed.

In all his years on planet Earth Mark Calaway was not a man known for being anywhere near emotional or sentimental. In fact, even his own brother thought he was an android of some sort. However, the little gesture made a nick in the thick layers of ice that encased Mark's heart and he felt it to the core of his being. //Sneaky bastard.//

Mark removed his coat and threw it to the ground. He headed to the closet, and then to the bathroom returning with a First Aid kit in hand. //Gotta get rid of this glass.// He sat beside the younger man and meticulously dressed his wounds. Luckily, they weren't anything more than small scratches and even a few deeper nicks here and there. After washing up, Mark returned to the room. He threw a cover sheet over Phil's still unconscious body and silently closed the door behind him as he exited the bedroom.

His eyes scanned the disaster that lay before him and he allowed only one desperate sigh to escape before marching over to the closet in the laundry area to locate a broom and other cleaning devices. It had taken Mark Calaway a total of two hours to get the apartment back to its former state. Being too tired to even think, Mark opted to lie on the couch and let nature run its course.

***-*-***


	5. Morning After

***-*-* **

The sun was already awake and lighting up the sky by the time Phillip Brooks wrenched himself from sleep. His disheveled black hair clung to the whiteness of the pillow that his head was resting on. He shifted about on the bed. //When did the couch get bigger?// The reality of where he was sunk in once Phil's cerulean eyes fully opened. //Isn't this my bedroom? Why am I here?// Instinctively, or maybe just having a slight tinge of hope, Phil turned to look at the spot beside him and sighed in defeat once he found it empty. He raked his eyes over his bandaged left arm. //Oh yeah. Edge called.// The sound of a series of gentle knocks on his room door drew him away from any would-be depressing thoughts.

"Yeah?" His voice squeaked a bit on the last part of the word. "Is that you Mark?"

After last night's fiasco with Edge suddenly calling his new number, Phil was more than ready to expect that Copeland would be able to locate his place of residence, as well as even get a spare key.

"Who else would it be?" Unbeknown to Mark, his response put Phil's mind at ease. "Listen, I made some food so come to the kitchen when you can. Okay?"

"Oh you didn't have to Mark. You're my pet remember." He got off the bed and walked to the door, "In this case I'm the one who should -"

"Pets can take care of their owners too." Mark's low voice cut into Phil's sentence and stopped the younger man once he reached the closed door. "Just get out here when you get hungry."

Mark's retreating footsteps echoed as they hit the wood flooring. Phil was just inches away from opening the door, but the sudden feel of his face burning diverted his attention to a nearby mirror. His jaw dropped at the sight. Tousled ebony locks were kicking in every direction. Despite getting some well needed sleep, his face still looked tired. And to top it all off, said tired face was dyed in a red tinge. He was blushing beyond repair. //Oh crap! I can't go looking like this!// He sprinted to the bathroom and hurriedly drowned his face in cold water and soap. Once finished, he dried off, and straightened his sloppy attire in front of the full length mirror behind his closet door. The fact that he had on a white T-shirt instead of a gray one on shocked him the most. //So when did I change?// After leaving the question alone, his nervousness set in once more. To calm himself, Phil jolted his shoulders up and down, flexed his neck and raked his fingers through his hair in an attempt to put the strands down. An accomplished smile topped off the feeling. //Now I can go eat.// He opened the door and headed out.

***-*-***

To say that the look on Phil's face was priceless would be a heavy pun, but at the same time it was what best described it. Mark eyed the man, from the comforts of the large couch, as he staggered towards the kitchen.

"W-What happened here?" Phil stopped a few steps away from Mark with confusion weighing heavily on his face. His eyes scanning the room in disbelief.

Mark cracked a small smile, "Apparently a couple of tornadoes came through here, and they did a number on your apartment. So I cleaned it up."

Phil stared dead-on on Mark. "Y-You?" He pointed at the older man for emphasis, "Y-You cleaned this up?"

A low chuckle rattled through Mark's throat, "Yeah. Why's that so shocking?"

Phil gathered his thoughts before responding, "Well you see... you don't normally... you know."

Mark cocked an eyebrow, "No. I don't."

"Uh. Well it's just that you've been here for two weeks and never really took an interest in helping around."

Mark's expression dropped to a stern one. His cold jades coupled with such a harsh facial expression sent surges of fear through Phil's being. Afraid of adding more to Mark's anger by speaking at all, Phil turned to his comfort zone – chewing on the lip ring that hung on his lower lip. The sight brought Mark quickly to his feet and before Phil could register anything, Mark's right hand was gripping his chin with more force than necessary, and bracing it slightly upward. The action forced Phil to have to let go of his lip ring – which Mark instantly ceased and yanked sharply on with his other hand.

"This" He pulled harder, gaining a small and desperate "ouch" from Phil, "_annoys_ me."

Shadows slowly crept over his eyes as he glared right at Phil – further succeeding in scaring the smaller man to death. The death stare was nothing more than a very effective front as Mark was heavily confused for a fraction of a moment. //Why do I feel like I've done this before?// He quickly shook his thoughts out and focused on what it was he had entangled himself into.

"I've noticed that you always do this whenever you get nervous or you're thinking. And it's not a healthy habit. If you keep chewing on this it _will_ be ripped out, and then you can get a lip infection. Do you want that to happen?"

Phil shook his head. "No." He whimpered.

"Good. So either you stop doing this, or else I will remove this ring by force."Phil stiffened at the threat. Mark leaned in closer. "Are we clear?"

Phil nodded desperately. "Crystal. Crystal."

Mark released Phil and headed into the kitchen. Phil gently rubbed his jaw and lower lip to soothe the pain. His face lit up with a slight red tinge shortly after. He looked over at Mark – who was pouring out some coffee into two separate mugs – and smiled shyly while his mind lowered in deep thoughts. The moment Mark half-turned towards him, Phil released his lower lip. //Crap! I did it again.// Mark headed over to the small two-seat table that sat in the corner of the kitchen next to the window.

"Come on." He shifted his head to the direction he was heading in. "Let's eat."

"Sure."

Phil tagged behind the larger man sitting down even thought he was unable to get over the shock of seeing what sat on the plates ahead. Mark put the fork with the strip of near charcoal bacon on it to his mouth, but stopped when he saw Phil sitting down in silence, with wide blue eyes looking deadpan on the table.

"Go ahead Phil. It's edible."

"Yeah." Phil let out a nervous laugh as he glanced at Mark and then back on the plate below. //What the hell is this?!//

The bacon strips were burnt beyond recognition. The pancakes seemed – for lack of another term – undercooked. And they were drowning in the glazed pancake syrup. There was a piece of toast. Or what looked to be meant to be toast. It sat near the edge of his plate. A small bowl of fresh strawberries was sitting at his left next to the mug of coffee. //Is that even coffee?//

"You're not hungry?"

Phil stifled the need to blurt out a sound to accompany his return to the situation at hand. "Uh..." He looked at Mark who was giving him a questioning look. "Yeah. I was just making sure this was..." He glanced back at the food on his plate. "Real."

Mark chuckled slightly, "I'm pretty useful when I put my mind to it." He chomped down another piece of pancake. Phil bit down hard on his tongue so to not scream out loud. "But if you keep staring into space for too long everything will go cold and then it won't taste like it should."

"Really." //How exactly should this be tasting?// He sighed defeated and swallowed his taste buds.

The bacon was the first thing to clamber down his throat. It was like eating ash. Ash that just so happened to taste like pork. Phil washed it down quickly with the – thankfully very well made – coffee. The heat burnt his tongue a little, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make in order to not throw up right then and there. //Why does his cooking suck so bad?// He threw the thought more towards the pancakes than anything else.

In truth, Phillip Brooks had always wanted to sit down and have breakfast with Mark Calaway. It was just a small piece of one of his highly elaborate fantasies – this one being coupled with he and Mark in a beautiful home with a splendid kitchen eating food around a gorgeous breakfast table. To add, Fantasy Mark had instructed Phil to wear nothing else except an apron, and the rest was too embarrassing to mention (it involved honey). The part about having breakfast with Mark – more specifically breakfast Mark had made – had come true. However, unfortunately for Phil, Real-Life Mark was not a superb chef like Fantasy Mark, and the reality of it all was making his head hurt. He downed his sorrows by drinking more coffee and eating one of the strawberries – the only thing not handled by Mark Calaway.

Mark had finished his meal – which apparently he found to be of good taste seeing as though he basically licked the plate clean – and was staring intently at Phil from over his raised coffee mug. The younger man was eating a strawberry. Nothing more. However, just the sight of Phil popping the bright red fruit into his mouth and the hypnotic way his lips moved over it while he chewed put Mark into a sort of trance. His jades sat focused on Phillip's lips. The previous feeling of confusion returned to Mark instantly.

"Have I kissed you before?" He spoke without thinking and it wore heavily on the 'what the hell?!' look on his face. He slammed the mug down on the table, causing some of the coffee to spill. "Wait! I didn't mean that!"

Phil stared at him silently. He swallowed the strawberry loudly. "Um," //Maybe I should just tell him right now. I mean it'd keep Edge off my back after all.// "Well-"

"Don't worry! You _really_ don't have to answer." Mark let out a loud sigh as he hung his head slightly and raked a hand through his curly locks – forcing them back. "Let's just forget I said that. Okay?"

Phil nodded.

Mark took a heavy drink of his coffee, pulling the mug away only once it became necessary to breathe. Phil simply stared at his coffee for what seemed like an eternity. An awkward silence hovered over the two men for the remainder of their breakfast time. Once Phil was finished –after much silent agony – Mark stood up and picked up the empty utensils. He stared down at Phil stirring up feelings of uncertainty in the younger man.

"Shampooing" Phil slightly raised his eyebrows. Mark continued. "Is that offer still open?"

Phil beamed a smile. "Definitely."

***-*-***


	6. Different Feeling Same Bet

**I'm so exicted! And I really can't hide it! Yes! I finished my research papers! Now to exams! And then SUMMER!!!!!!! YAY!!!! lol **

**Ignore the rants. I have clearly lost my mind :D ENJOY!!!!!! **

**Okay.... back to the story.  
**

***-*-***

The bath tub was filled to the brim with water. As per usual, Mark got undressed and into the bath tub with Phil locked out from sight. It was still shocking to the older man that he had decided to just go along with some of these 'pet rules', but he felt it was the least he could do since Phil was really a nice guy. The thought vanquished once Phil entered the bathroom with a chair to sit on and a basket full of hair products. Mark narrowed his eyes a bit at the sight. //Why does he have so many things pertaining to hair treatment?// Phil sat behind the older man and beamed a smile as Mark looked up at him. A long sigh escaped Mark's lips as he dropped his gaze to the tiled wall ahead. //I must have a screw loose.//

"I didn't know what kind of shampoo you use so, I bought a whole variety of them."

Mark scoffed, "Soap is soap."

"Y-Yeah."

Phil stared at Mark for a while to process the image before him. Mark Calaway was in his bathtub – naked- with his soaking wet hair lying on his board shoulders and threading down a short length of his muscular back. It was a miracle that Phil was able to restrain himself from opting to get into the tub with Mark. The older man rested his large tattooed arms on the edges of the tub. Had he not been so huge both in girth and length, Mark would have slid down further so as to rest his head on the rim of the tub for optimum relaxation. Instead, he settled for option number two – sinking lower by hoisting up his knees above the lukewarm water that filled the bathtub. With this, his neck was able to finally rest comfortably on the lip of the ceramic tub whenever he saw fit to do so. Phil stopped his motions for a long second as he watched the older man's body appear then vanish below the water only to appear again from his arms up. The water was all that blanketed the lower half of Mark Calaway. Phil had to once again call on unknown forces to anchor himself to the wooden chair – that was sitting behind Mark – rather than strip and join Calaway. The older man looked up casually at Phil – unaware of that his being there just a hairs length away was having a huge effect on the younger man. He steadied himself shortly after setting his jades to the white tiled wall ahead.

"So are you gonna start?"

Phil blinked rapidly as his mind came back from Fantasy Land. " Y-Yeah." He fumbled about and decided to pull out the 2-in-1 Head&Shoulders figuring it to be manly enough. "All right."

He dosed a large amount of the shampoo into his hands, and worked it methodically and with massaging strength through the soaked locks of Mark's hair. Unused to the act, Mark tensed immediately. However, after a while, Phil's kneading touch seemed to relax his muscles and effectively calm him down. As if on cue his eyelids slowly fell until they closed shut. Somehow having Phil's hands through his hair had put the older man at ease. In a more technical term, Mark felt completely relaxed. It was nice feeling – even though it felt familiar in an alien way. Once the situation seemed to be more laid back rather than on pins and needles, Phil opted to start some conversation. It was a commodity that had been lacking for a few minutes too long.

"I...uh...heard you like to gamble." He paused. "A lot."

"Yeah." Mark smiled slightly. His voice deep and husky. "And I suppose you know that I really suck at it."

"I-I do." He confessed in a low tone while silently chewing on his lip ring. //Great going Captain Obvious! Next time try telling him that you know his name too!//

A low sigh escaped Mark's lips as he opened his eyes. "Enough about me." He leaned back to look up at Phil. "Tell me about yourself."

The blush on Phil's face was most definitely due to the heat that rose from the water in the bath tub and clogged the room. Either that or it was simply because Mark Calaway had just inquired to Phillip Brooks about the younger man's personal life. Mark had actually asked and the shock brought on pains treading on cardiac arrest to Phil. Countless times Brooks had thought about sitting down and holding a personal conversation with Mark. However, in his dreams he and Fantasy Mark were sitting at a candle lit table dining and wining. Reality's "romantic setting" had Mark and Phil in a steamy bathroom together. The scene was more like something out of an erotic book than the preferred pages of a "How-To-Be-Romantic" book.

It was due to Phil's lengthy silence that Mark decided to speak. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

Phil snapped back out of his daze and whirlwind thoughts to find Mark staring at the tiles ahead. Not at him. The moment was gone. The would-be chance to propel his long one-sided love for the older man vanished while he was simply trying to grasp the fact that Mark showed any interest in his personal life. It was disheartening, but Phil chewed the bit after deciding to grab after straws in hopes to bring the moment back.

"Well...it's not that I don't _want _to tell you..." //I do want to tell you!// "It's just that it's more like _if_ I told you..." //You'd want nothing to do with me! Ever!//

"I'm not in any rush Phil. I'm not leaving anytime soon, so just tell me whenever you're ready. In fact you don't even have to tell me at all. Just do whatever makes you comfortable." Mark half turned to look at Phil momentarily. "Whoever heard of a pet ordering his owner around?"

It touched Phil's heart to have such an understanding person sitting in his bathtub. Actually, it was more because said person was Mark Calaway. //I have to say something. It doesn't have to be everything. I can start with something small.// Phil thought hard. //Maybe I can tell him about my family, and leave it at that.// He fought the urge to nod for fear of being labeled insane. //He doesn't have to know about everything else.//

"My Mom and Dad have been married for almost fifty years now." He steadied his nervous tone. "Dad told me once that the key to a healthy, long marriage is to do whatever the woman wanted." His voice dropped slightly. "He wasn't one to practice what he preached."

"It's not easy following your own advice." Mark's tone dried. "Often times the ones giving advice to others are just giving advice to themselves."

//I guess that's right.// Phil continued to gently scrub Mark's hair. "We moved after Dad got a new job. It was going good, but it didn't hold and just a few months in Mom had three jobs, I had countless and Dad was unemployed. It wasn't long before he developed a temper and became a constant drunk."

Mark went dead silent. Phil slowed his fingers and stared blankly at Mark's now white, foamy hair. His blue eyes curtained a bit and his senses slowly trickled away through his open pores as his mind trailed off.

His tone was now as low as a whisper. "He wasn't always like that you know, but it's all because things got so rough, and the bottle just seemed more comforting. It provided him an escape from Mom's nagging; his parent's overbearing disappointment, his friends' betrayals, and his fatherly responsibilities to his children." He smiled shyly – blue eyes near distant now. "It's amazing how much alcohol can change somebody. After a few months, the man he had become resembled nothing of my father."

Something could have been said. More precisely, something should have been said. However, Mark had no words to offer. He could not relate to Phil's situation. All, and any, recollection of his father funneled into the view of a distinguished, down-to-earth, loving and doting guy. He was laid back too – a trait Mark not only inherited, but intensified the meaning of. Like all of the other guys, his Dad drank. However, he and his eldest son – Mark – both shared that high tolerance for alcohol so Mr. Calaway Senior never got drunk. In this situation, having nothing to say on the topic, Mark opted to take hold of the pet role. He remained silent and listened intently.

Phil's lips moved without consent. His voice shaking. "Mom couldn't take it anymore and wanted out. We all wanted out. But Dad was built like a tree so it was impossible to go against him. Whenever he went into one of his alcohol-induced fits of rage we hid in my room. It locked from the inside so we were safe."

Phil stopped moving all together. Mark glanced at Brooks from over his broad shoulder – surprised to see the man's face stained with heavy, silent tears. His jades slid away before Phil caught them staring.

"Then I came home late one night. I had been hanging out with my friends and we lost track of time. When I got home, Dad was already having one of his fits. The thing that sticks out even today is that I can't recall having seen a single beer can, or bottle anywhere in sight when usually they'd be carpeting the floor. At the time nothing else but the need to hide registered. He didn't spot me, so I bolted up the stairs and ran to my room, but it was locked from the inside. Mom and my siblings were in there. I screamed at them to open the door, but they didn't. I told them it was me, but the door didn't budge. When I turned around, Dad was already behind me." Tension rode Phil's words. "He started hitting me and calling me a bitch, and a whore. I didn't know what he was he was talking about, and I tried to calm him down, but he kept hitting harder. I hit back, but a scrawny sixteen year old boy wearing thick glasses couldn't hope to beat a large, thick burly man who tipped the scale at three hundred pounds pure muscle. He picked me up and threw me over the banister. My leg broke and my left shoulder popped out. He glared down at me, and then shouted at my room door. He told my Mom to listen closely to every sound I made. I didn't understand who or what he was mad at, but when he came down the stairs with a glass bottle in his hand, that no longer mattered. I tried to crawl away, but he caught up and drove my head through the TV."

Something in Phil's mind told him to stop. It was a tiny voice of reason. However, be it due to Mark's silence, or the utter privacy of the bathroom – the one room where even a King could bow down freely to his savior – Phil did not listen to the little voice. Instead he simply continued with the same freedom as a runaway train.

"The fight ended there for me, but not for him. He broke the bottle and jammed it in my side. I screamed out, I even called for help from Mom, but when I looked at the door it wasn't open. Back then I cursed her for not helping, but I can sort of understand why she didn't. If she had opened that door, she would have been the one he raped instead of me." His words strained through clenched teeth and his tone dipped into bitterness. "I was slipping into unconsciousness when it happened, but I could still hear his heavy breathing and could smell that putrid stench of raw fish and whiskey that oozed out of every part of his body. After he was done, he dragged me by the hair and threw me outside. He called me a fag and told me to never come home." Phil swallowed air loudly. His fingers grabbed tightly on to Mark's hair roots as a reflex. "Not a day goes by that I don't want him dead. And I hate that even though I now have the power to, I just can't do it!"

As if struck by a bolt of high voltage lightning that had shaped into one of Zeus' spears, Mark's heart ceased to beat. Unbeknown to Phil, his final words were the only part of his tragic story that Calaway could relate to. That fact, along with the realization that he had just heard something beyond his comprehension from a man he once deemed as uninteresting hit Mark hard. He had thought he was at a loss for words before. He had never been more wrong. It was now that Mark Calaway was truly, and completely speechless. The pain from Phil's clutching registered much later.

It was the same for Phil who – once his fingers felt numb – slowly realized that he was basically attempting to rip out Mark's hair. H quickly let go, re-grouped his mind by dragging it back to the present, dried his eyes and hurriedly got to his feet. //Why did I say all that?!// He stumbled over the chair as he headed for the door. Mark turned around after hearing the clambering sounds behind him only to have a towel slapped into his face, blocking his line of vision. By the time he drew the towel down, Phil was already gone. As if a fire was lit under him, Mark sprung out of the bathtub – the water tugging at him a bit – and ran out into the other rooms. The towel barely clung to his waist in an attempt to save some of his dignity. Despite a generally thorough search, the apartment came up Phil-less. Upon hearing the low hum of the elevator down the hall, Mark exited the room and ran towards it. The doors opened once he pressed the button but the iron cage was empty. Phil was gone.

***-*-***


	7. Raising Stakes

**Yes. It's late. Very, very late. And I apologize. **

**Now I'm going to be honest here gentle readers, I wrote this chapter with my eyes closed (figuratively speaking of course lol), so I'm not 100 percent keen on this one.**

**NONETHELESS! I hope you enjoy :D **

**Okay....back to the story. **

***-*-***

Smack Down stayed in cities much longer than RAW did from time to time. For this sole reason, many of the Smack Down superstars looked towards long term rentals – from rooms, to apartments, and sometimes even full houses – as opposed to staying three nights in a hotel only to move once again. The set up made many Smack Down employees get a taste of what living at home felt like – even if that taste was often times microscopic.

In this case, Phillip Brooks was different than the average Smack Down superstar. He never rented. Instead, he chose to make life easier by owning an apartment and even some condos in each city. Most of his places were located somewhat close to the hotels that a few of the superstars chose to reside in. The present situation was no different. Phil's current apartment – the one he now shared with Mark – was located a short distance away from the Smack Down hotel. More often than not Brooks would take the time to visit and even stay with his friends in their hotel rooms. Now was not one of those common occasions. Instead the opposite happened.

By a random meeting of coincidences, or maybe a stroke of the luck that Phil so heavily demeaned, Jeff Hardy was out on the road attempting not to destroy Matt's new rental. Upon spotting Phil sitting on the outdoor steps of his own apartment building, Jeff ran the car over the sidewalk stopping millimeters away from the light post that was anchored in the cement. After exiting the beyond poorly parked car, Jeff was able to see that Phil was clad in mismatched clothes and a pair of dress shoes to top off the weird ensemble. When Phil lifted his head and looked up at his friend, Jeff smiled and gave a quick wave.

"Hey Philly. What's up?"

Phil remained silent, mumbling when he finally chose to speak. "Hey. Why are you here Jeff?" He glanced at the car and shock hit his tone. "And what's with the car on the sidewalk?"

Jeff quickly mounted the steps, and pulled Phil swiftly to his feet. "I'm so glad I spotted you Philly. This is just perfect."

Phil stumbled down the steps with a look of confusion on his face, "Huh? Why are you glad? What's perfect?"

"I get to show you my surprise." He dragged the pseudo-reluctant man towards the car. "It's at my hotel though, so come on."

Without being able to get so much as a syllable in, much less an entire word, Phil went along with the motions and got into the car. Jeff immediately gassed the four wheel vehicle over the sidewalk and swung it back onto the road. The sound of something underneath tearing as the car scraped off the sidewalk and hit the asphalt of the road fell on deaf ears as Jeff chose not to hear it, and Phil chose not to question it.

***-*-***

The 'surprise' that Jeff had to show Phil was either a full out lie, or a very grumpy Matt Hardy. It was never a secret to Phil that Matt loved his brother Jeff a lot more than a big brother should. However, everyone knew that Matt was possessive of Jeff. More precisely, Matt was overly possessive and extremely controlling of his little brother. From Jeff's childhood stories, Phil learned that Matt's possessive nature was ever present – and ever growing. When Matt crossed the line that separated sibling love from the love one would show to a significant other, his possessive nature only got bigger and more dominant. It became the highlight of the older man's character. And all of the loyal minions – jealously, rage, and greed – that followed such a massive possessive personality grew as well. Jeff still stood by him, but soon Matt turned those minions on the younger Hardy. At the time it was all due to Matt not being too keen on accepting the fact that he had indeed taken his brother by force, and was simply channeling all of his understandable feelings of self-loathe and being scared to lose Jeff towards hating everything his brother had. When Matt drew out his temperament on screen, Jeff decided to settle their problems there. Backlash was the first time anyone had seen Jeff Hardy that angry and that cold. However, it did not stop Matt from apologizing backstage and it did not stop Jeff from accepting. To this day no one, even Phil, understands why Jeff would take back and love the man who at one point tried to kill him.

Both of the Hardy's had moved on from such trivialities and are very much a loving, doting couple. It even showed now as Matt opened the room door with a bright smile on his face meant for Jeff. However, his cheery expression instantly morphed into a look of pure smoldering hate once he spotted Phil trailing in after Jeff. To those who did not know Matt Hardy, such a look of utter disdain would have led some to believe that the older Hardy held a deep rooted hatred for them, and as such would have begged the question of why he did. Phil was no different, but that quickly changed once he came to realize that Matt shot that angry scowl at anyone who so much as breathed around Jeff. The younger Hardy did not mind that fact because it meant that Matt would only direct that happy-go-lucky-and-all-smiles attitude at him, and no one else. In such a sense, it could be deciphered that Jeff Hardy was just as possessive as Matt – maybe even more so – but he went about it in a very different way.

However, that knowledge did not render Matt's hateful scowl any less effective, and soon Phil found himself trying desperately to avoid it. He sat on the bed with his back turned to the older man. Jeff joined him – the act bringing even more anger to Matt. Unbeknown to the two brunettes', Jeff Hardy had brought Phil to the hotel for two main reasons. One, Phil was outside of his apartment in the middle of the afternoon. With that as a guiding light Jeff knew the man – for whatever reasons – did not want to return to the comfort of his own apartment. And two, there was a heavy cloud of worry that hovered above the younger brunette, and it was clearly visible to Jeff.

In truth, Phil was indeed worrying to no ends. For one, he randomly ran out on a naked Mark – an act he found himself regretting. To add to that, he was in Jeff's presence which meant questions he didn't want to answer. The fact clearly showcased by his habitual chomp on the lip ring located on his lower lip. He could almost envision the dark look of Mark's would-be angry expression that was followed swiftly by a harsh scolding, and for that he momentarily released his lip ring from the enamel prison. The silence in the room was unbearably heavy. After a short while, being unable to continue in the dead silence and razor sharp tension that made up the present atmosphere, Jeff opted to speak.

"Phil." His voice was tender and low, "I know I brought you here, but I did it so that you could tell me what's wrong." He waited. Phil didn't respond. "You can't stay silent forever."

Phil skated his deep blue eyes over to Jeff. Loose ebony strands hung suspended over his face and formed a dark blanket over his eyes. Jeff coughed up a small smile as naturally as breathing and gently pushed back Phil's unruly strands. A blood vessel ruptured in Matt's head signalling that his annoyance was now past the boiling point.

"You better say something quick or just get the hell out of here!" He snapped viciously.

Jeff shot his brother a harsh glare to silence the older man. Matt shied away, zipping his mouth shut and simply leaning causally on the door frame. Assured that his brother would refrain from having another rage-fueled outburst, Jeff sighed softly wrapping a comforting arm around his friend's slumped shoulders. Phil turned his eyes away and Jeff looked ahead in the man's general direction.

"Can you at least tell me why you were sitting outside of your apartment? If you lost your key you could have just come straight here you know." Matt growled. Jeff ignored him. "Just say something."

Phil drew in a deep, silent breath. His voice squeaked at the start. "I told him Jeff. I couldn't stop and would have said more had I not gotten up and left the apartment."

"Um, you told who what now?"

Phil slid his eyes over to Jeff. //Can't tell him about Mark.// "I told my 'pet' about my Dad."

Matt cut in brashly, "You have a pet? Is it still alive?"

Jeff shot him a harsh glare before turning a gentle expression back to Phil. "So you told Tazz about your Dad correct?" He smiled sweetly, "That's no reason to run out Philly."

"You don't understand Jeff!" His voice rose by the millisecond. "He actually asked me to talk about myself! He showed interest in me for the first time ever, and of all the things, I just _had _to choose the dirty truth! At the rate I was going I would've given him enough detailed information to write an entire biography!"

A confused look nestled onto Jeff's face. "Uh...I'm not really following you Philly. You said he asked you?"

"Yes he -" //Oh crap!// Phil quickly scrambled for some form of redemption, "He...uh...it was the situation. I just felt like he wanted to know, you know." The younger man could feel Matt's look of what-the-hell burning deep into his back from across the room. "Look, the point is I told him something that – aside from you – I have never told anyone else."

The confusion on Jeff's face was only deepening. "Okay. So what _exactly_ is the problem here?"

Cerulean eyes filled rapidly with a pleading look. "I was about to tell him everything! Word for word!" He sped up his rant, "I mean I wanted to tell him everything at some point, but when you take a look at all the other relationships I've had that failed solely because the other party knew about me, I suddenly don't want him to know anything at all!" He planted his face into his open palms, "I just don't want him to know what I am."

Jeff went dead silent. Matt scoffed garnering Phil's undivided attention. "Hold on a second. Are you in love with your pet or something? Do you want to become his lover or something?"

"Y-" //Wait a second!// "No! I-I _do_ love him, but it's not...you know..._that_."

"Tazz is a dog right?"

"Y-Yeah."

"So why does it matter what you tell him?"

Phil's eyebrows creased slightly. "It matters because he'd despise me right after." //Damn it! If I don't stop now he'll know Tazz is a fake!//

A loud laugh escaped Matt. "I don't believe what I'm, hearing!" Phil raised an eyebrow in question. Matt continued in a slightly drier tone. "Do you actually think that Tazz is a human being?"

//Sort of.// "Um...well..." He glanced over to Jeff. The older blond was giving him a look bordering pity. "I...uh..." //I may as well just say it.// "You see Ma -"

"You know what. You really are lonely aren't you? To treat a dog like a human being only because you can't connect to some of them. It's pitiful." Matt chuckled slightly, "To think you actually ran out after talking to a _dog _because you were worried what it'd think of you." He scoffed loudly, "Newsflash Phil. He's a fucking dog. He doesn't care. That dog is simply programmed to be loyal, and put up with crap from you.

It was Matt's condescending tone of voice that proved to be the final straw of tolerance for Phil. He shot to his feet almost fully glaring at Matt. For the sake of sanity he withheld some of his anger.

"Mark is not a dog! He's not 'programmed' to do anything and he does care!"

Had a pin been dropped at that moment it would have echoed loudly throughout the room. Matt's eyes were wide as saucers. Phil's expression was just as shocked. And Jeff had almost fallen off the bed after hearing Brook's outburst.

"Uh..." Matt silenced himself to gather his thoughts. "W-Why are we talking about Calaway? I didn't call him a dog at all."

Jeff looked up worryingly at Phil, "Yeah Philly. Why did you mention Mark?"

The term shit-hit-the-fan did not have any meaning to Phillip Brooks. No matter how bad the situation or circumstance that the man found himself in he had never had a shit-hit-the-fan moment.

That was until now.

//Crap.// He stared wide-eyed into space in search of some way to fix the current situation. //Okay. This can go one of two ways. One, you just tell them that Mark's your pet and Tazz is a fake.// When visualizing the eternity of scorn and disdain he would garner from Matt, Mark, and who knew who else, Phil quickly scratched a line through the thought. //Or better yet two, you continue with the charade.// Option two was more comforting to Phil's now derailed frame of mind.

"Why did I mention Mark?" He parroted. "Well. You see...I uh...." He blinked rapidly to weave his thoughts together. His eyes darted between both Jeff and Matt. "Mark is my roommate. He moved in a few um...weeks ago."

Jeff's jaw hit the floor. "Mark is_ living_ with you" His eyes went starry with some form of admiration. "_Now_ it all makes sense."

Both Phil and Matt responded in unison, "What does?"

"Oh come on Philly. Tazz wasn't the reason you left." A large smile crossed Jeff's face. Relief was molded into his expression. "You left the apartment because you were afraid that Mark might have overheard you. I understand completely Philly. Even though Mark isn't known to be the type of guy to worry much, a story like yours would make him feel uneasy around you had he heard it."

//He's an idiot. Thank goodness!// "Y-Yeah." Phil's tone grew bold, "I wouldn't want that at all."

Matt scoffed under his breath, garnering a sidelong glare from his younger brother. Jeff looked back at Phil. "You must be glad to have Mark in your house huh?" A cheeky smile splashed on to his lips. "Maybe you can break that policy of his again. Only this time have him remember."

Phil chuckled nervously. "Maybe, but with Edge in the picture I..." He trailed off into silence.

"Edge?" Jeff's voice brought Phil back to reality, "What does Adam have to do with this? Is he living with you too?"

Phil let out a nervous laugh. //What am I a walking blabbermouth?! Why did I mention Edge?!// "Uh...no. He uh....is really..." Phil let out a soft exasperated sigh before instantly perking up and looking at his naked wrist. "Wow! Would you look at the time? Tazz must be getting really hungry by now." He pranced hastily towards the door.

"Huh?" Jeff stood to his feet – a bit perplexed by Phil's sudden change in mood. "But isn't Mark there to feed -"

"Ah he's allergic to dogs! Slightly!" Phil reached the door. Matt scooted aside to allow Phil to pass. The older man's face was still very much filled with a look of dry hate. Phil scrounged up a weak smile. "See you guys later."

Jeff and Matt exchanged glances before looking back at the now closed room door. Matt gave a small smirk as he looked back gently at Jeff's bewildered expression.

"Just a question, but doesn't his apartment have one bedroom?"

"Yeah." Jeff nodded distantly. "And he sleeps in the couch while Tazz sleeps in the bed." His tone trailed off.

Matt chuckled lightly, "I think I get why you two are such compatible friends."

For lack of a better term, Jeff looked even more confused. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're both horrible liars."

***-*-***

Mark stared angrily at the television. It was blank due to the fact that it was broken. That fact was the fault of the canyon-sized crack that etched deep into the flat screen. //He needs a new TV.// The older man leaned back in the couch to locate optimum comfort. His eyes rested dead pan, in thought, on the digital clock ticking away on the right-hand side of his phone screen. //Where the hell did he go for three whole hours? And why did he just run out like that?// He threw down his phone onto the empty cushion beside his large, slumped frame. Mark's memory played heavily on the past events, branding Phil's story deep into the core of his rarely used mind. //I never would've guessed he had such a harsh upbringing. Makes me curious as to what else he's hiding.// He ran both hands swiftly through his slightly damp curls. //If I'm gonna get anymore out of him then I have to come up with a really good strategy.// He narrowed his darkened jades at the scarred TV screen ahead. //It has to be one that won't allow him to tuck tail and run away like this.// He sighed heavily. //Maybe I ought to get an extension on this pet deal.//

For the past three hours, Mark Calaway was stuck inside the apartment. He lacked a key and as so could not simply run out to find Phil himself. After Brook's random escape, Mark was left to finish washing his hair, and - after swearing to never to use shampoo again due to the time it took to wash it all out – he finalized his bath in an unbelievable thirty minutes. His knees felt as though they were about to pop due to him standing for the entirety of those thirty minutes – as opposed to his three hour soaking – and for once in his life, Mark had a second thought about seeing a doctor. He was not getting any younger, and due to his bad knees he wasn't able to complete his training sessions with the ease he was used to. After silently promising himself to go see a physician when all was said and done, Mark was somehow able to finish his shower. A long tedious search later he located Phil's hair dryer, but after nearly setting his own hair afire, Mark gave up opting to allow nature to wind-dry his curly locks. Nature took a very long time. Two hours in and his ebony locks were still slightly damp enough to soak a towel, rather than being preferably bone dry.

Now, dressed in a plain white T-Shirt one size too small and a pair of ripped jeans, Mark was sitting quite patiently with arms folded across his chest and eyes burning deep holes into the cracked TV screen, awaiting Phil's return. Three hours had passed, and Calaway's patience was wearing thin.

He continued to glare at the television screen. His eyes now completely overshadowed to the point where it was anyone's guess as to what color they actually were. //He better come back at some point of the day or else.// The threat proved ineffective as Phil did not magically appear. It was apparent to Mark at the moment that above all else he felt a little bit lonely all of a sudden. Solitude is a natural part of any man's life, and it was no different for Mark. That was until he stepped foot into Phil's apartment. The place felt familiar. The man – whom he had never exchanged a meaningful word with until that fateful night two weeks ago – seemed so familiar to Mark. In the not so distant past, being in close quarters with strange men made Mark uneasy. It was a situation he promised to avoid at all times. Being in the company of Phillip Brooks, being looked after (even as a pet) with no sense of obligation behind the gesture, and even being allowed to learn about the man should have all felt strange to Mark. He should have been driven to the depths of distress in just a week. He should have been gone already. Nonetheless, he was still here, waiting in Brook's couch two weeks later. And it all felt natural. The thought spooked Mark a bit as he could not pin point where the feeling came from, however such a problem was the least of his worries. Instead it got replaced by the fact that Mark liked the familiar yet alien feeling. And with Phillip actually talking to him, Mark made the decision to hang around longer. He closed his eyes after his mind cleared for a moment. //Geez just get your ass back here already and tell me why you ran out!// Mark heaved a long, heavy sigh. //Damn it why do I have to waste time thinking?!//

The lock clicked loudly, alerting Mark to the front door. He watched it idly as it slowly opened, revealing the silhouette of Phillip Brooks. Phil visibly caught himself after being knocked slightly by the shock of finding Mark – clothed and dry – seated on the couch staring back a tad inquisitively at him. He closed the door softly, and stepped into the room – caution barring each step. Once he was in earshot of Mark Calaway, Phil stopped and decided to speak from that distance.

//Just start with an apology and then give him an explanation.// "Uh...I um...um... I'm s-sorry." He mumbled. //You walked all the way back, practicing non-stop, and that's all you can do?!// Phil drew in a hesitant breath after silencing his protesting thoughts. "I'm sorry for that awkward exit. It's just that I...uh...noticed something so I ran out."

"I see." Mark's voice was parched and deep. A heavy shadow loomed over his deep jades. "So what did you notice?"

Phil hung his head. //Why is this so damn embarrassing? I practiced on the way and I had no trouble then!// He sighed softly. "L-look, I just said too much. It was more than I wanted to say, and I really didn't mean to tell you all that."

"So why did you?"

"I don't...I just..." He looked up sheepishly at Mark, diverting his gaze elsewhere once he met the older man's intense stare. "I -"

"My Dad wasn't a drunk."

Phil's head rose along with his ocean blues. He looked up at Mark – surprised to see the older man now standing. "W-What?"

"My Dad wasn't I drunk." Mark walked forward, each step getting heavier. "He was a good, decent, and honest man. No matter how rough things got, he would always pull through. He was really a great Dad. I just wasn't a great son." The older man stopped a few inches ahead of Phil. His eyes burned deep into their target. "At eighteen I left home. Shortly after I became a notorious gambler. Just when I was about to kick the bucket after losing all my money, Glenn found me and told me about wrestling. I signed on and Dad actually came along. He patched up our past problems right then and there." His voice downed a notch. A flash of sadness, or something close to it, crossed Mark's near placid jades. And it caught Phil's eyes.

"Um Mark, you don't-"

"He put a band aid on our relationship." Mark's dry tone cut in with the same ease as cutting butter. "But band-aids always lose their hold, and soon the one that held my father and I together fell off. And like the horrible son I was, I never made the effort to patch things up again, even though he still tired to. I cut ties with the family once my career got off the ground. Glenn had a hard time finding me, but when he did all he had to tell me was that Dad had died." He scoffed softly more to himself than to Phil. "I've never seen his grave. I don't even know where he's buried. To this day it's still a shock that he died. The last good son-of-a-bitch on planet Earth died of a sudden heart attack. And that was that."

Phil stared in utter silence unable to comprehend both the randomness and depth of what he had just heard. When he finally grasped what was said Mark was now a mere millimeters away. The older man outstretched his arm to the side of Phil's face. His fingertips stopped short of their mark, opting instead to trap loose strands of Phil's hair behind his right ear. The younger man's face lit up instantly. It was suddenly very hard for Phillip Brooks to breathe.

In a tone drowning in dry ice, Mark spoke. "I've never told anyone this story. You're the first and the last." His deep voice grated against his throat as it went lower. A small smirk graced his grave expression. "What's wrong? You look like you're about to cry."

Phil blushed harder instantly. He looked at Mark with a solemn expression. He could not shake the sorrow and apologetic look molded deep into his blue eyes. Another flash of possible sadness sailed across Mark's darkened jades, disappearing faster than a shooting star across the bright night sky. Unable to think in that moment, Phil simply went along with the waltz of the mood. In a few nanoseconds he found himself hugging Calaway to his smaller and considerably shorter frame. Mark's head was cradled onto Phil's right shoulder and – surprisingly to the latter man – Mark did not attempt escape. Instead he hugged back. Tightly.

"I'm sorry." Phil's voice squeaked out into a mere whisper.

Mark scoffed softly, "Why are you apologizing?"

Phil squeezed the man closer to him, "You didn't have to tell me all that. But I'm glad that you did."

"I know how you feel." Mark's voice was muffled by the cotton make-up of Phil's shirt. "Let's have a trade Phil."

"A trade?" Phil's voice was coated in uncertainty. His heart began beating a bit faster than normal. "What kind of trade?"

"An information trade. From now on, whenever you tell me anything about yourself – past or present – I will tell you something about me in return. No judgments. And nothing leaves this apartment. Deal?"

Phil scoffed playfully. "I don't make deals with pets."

"Well you're gonna have to because I don't take no for an answer."

Phil thought for a moment. "Alright." He broke away from Mark, holding the bigger man outwards at arms' length. "But only on one condition."

Mark cocked an eyebrow slightly. "What is it?"

"You have to kiss me every time I go to leave the apartment."

"What?" Mark folded his muscular arms across his chest. "Why?"

Phil chewed on his thoughts for a moment. //That's the same thing I want to ask myself!// "Uh...well...this morning you asked me if you had ever kissed me before right?" //Thank God for long term memory.//

Mark gave a gated look. "Yeah."

"So I was thinking maybe you should find out. And what better way than to actually do it right?" He twiddled his thumbs to counter the urge to nibble on his lower lip ring. "Y-you only have to do it until you've found out the answer to your question."

Mark went dead silent. Phil was sweating bullets. //A kiss per day?! As if he'd take such a ludicrous proposition!// His face went red once more. //But he's okay with hugging, so why not kissing right?// He almost hung his head in defeat. Mark clenched and unclenched his jaw in thought. In truth he did not mind the condition too much. It was only fair at the moment. However, the thought of what more Phil might want to add to such a predicament heavily wavered Mark's ultimate decision. After thoroughly weighing his light options, Mark found his answer.

"I just have to do it until I'm sure right?"

Phil nodded. "Yeah. Pretty much."

"And in return you'll take my deal?"

"Yes."

//Well I can't say if I'll like this or not, but it guarantees a way to finally get an answer to whether or not I kissed Phil.// He scrubbed his chin slightly in thought. His eyes raking over Phil's perplexed expression. //Maybe it won't be so bad. This way I can at least learn more about him, and may after that I can -//

Mark smiled faintly – it was more of a crack in his cheek than a full blown smile – to break his thoughts. "You drive a hard bargain, but I'll take you up on your offer."

"O-Okay then." Phil stepped forward towards the kitchen. "Well in that case I'll-"

His sentence, would-be thoughts, and movements were all instantly cut short by a sudden intervention by Mark. Utilizing lightning speed and immeasurable strength, Mark ceased Phil's arm, dragged the man to his line of sight, tenderly – but with hidden force – grabbed Phil's chin and dove down to plant a long kiss on the man's lips. When Mark broke away, Phil was finally able to recall the steps necessary to breathe and pump his heart.

"Uh...." Was all he could say at the moment as his vocabulary momentarily fled him.

Mark smiled. "Interesting. I never knew men could blush so hard."

//W-What the hell?!// Phil regained his train of thought. His heart still pounding loudly against his chest. "W-What was that for?"

A hint of faux shock hit Mark's face. "You looked like you were heading out, so according to our deal, I have to kiss you." Mark drew in a deep breath. "And before you ask, no, I'm not sure yet."

//That surprised me!// The red tinge on Phil's face lit up brighter, bringing a slightly amused look to the otherwise expressionless face of Mark Calaway. The older man stepped aside allowing Phil to pass. The action took a long time to register in Phil's mind.

Mark simply stared pleasantly at the younger man watching almost with hawk-like precision as Phil stumbled over himself to get into the kitchen. //This could be a lot of fun. He's got a lot of amusing expressions. Just a kiss and he lights up like a Christmas tree. I wonder what a touch would -//

Phil clapped his hands loudly together breaking Mark's train of thought. "I-I guess you're hungry."

Mark stared dead pan at Phil. "Sort of."

Phil's tone grew nervous. "I-I'll whip up something then. What w-would you like?"

Mark shrugged slightly as he watched the younger man busy himself in the kitchen. He took a seat on the high chair behind the island counter. His hands resting causally on the cold granite as his jades slowly took in the sight of a very nervous Phillip Brooks. The man in question was trying his best to avoid eye contact, and failing miserably.

"I'll eat anything as long as it's edible." He curtained his jades slightly once they got hold of Phil's wandering blues. //Even you.//

Phil broke away from the piercing stare with a nervous chuckle and a bolder smile. "Alright. Edible coming right up."

***-*-***


	8. Betting Limits For A Bluff

**Late? Yes. I'm so sorry gentle readers.**

**Anyways, enjoy this chapter and rejoice that there shall be more lol **

**Okay... back to the story.

* * *

  
**

July twenty six was a day engraved deep into the mind of Phillip Brooks, even more so than his own birthday. It was a week ago that the young brunette had been thinking about July twenty six, and finally the day was here. July twenty six marked the wondrous occasion at the WWE known simply as Night Of Champions – a night where the stakes were high. It was all or nothing. However, as glorious as that fact may seem, July twenty six – aka present day – was anticipated by Phillip Brooks for one reason only. It was the day that marked one entire month from the time that Mark Calaway stepped foot into Phil's apartment. And to say that things were going good for the younger man would be the understatement of the year.

As a direct cause of his own infidelity when it came to winning a gamble, Mark had ended up on the wrong side of town, broke and homeless. As if fate herself rolled the dice, Phillip Brooks offered Mark the main necessities – food, shelter and clothing – all for the small price that The Dead Man became the pet of The Straight-Edge Superstar. Stripped bare and backed into a cold, hard corner Mark accepted the terms. However, fate loved to gamble probably more than Calaway did, and she never stood to lose. Just two weeks into their strange living arrangements, Mark struck an information trade deal with his owner Phil. The idea appealed to Brooks, but the younger man decided to raise the stakes by adding a sort of compensation for his efforts. The payment came in the form of a kiss from Mark every time Phil turned to leave his apartment.

Cautious by nature, Phillip Brooks limited himself by leaving the apartment as few times as possible so as to not induce complaints from Mark. The younger man did not want Mark to hate him. Two days was all it took for Calaway to get used to the routine and so he pulled his own weight by purposely stretching out the time and depth of each good bye kiss he handed to Phil. It was a dream come true for Phil who simply went with the motions by spontaneously increasing the amount of times he left the apartment – sometimes so ridiculous in that he simply headed down the hallway, came back for something he "accidentally left behind" only to leave once again. Not one to hold out on his half, Phil ferried the information trade by spewing random stories of his childhood before sixteen, and even included stories of his juvenile days with Jeff Hardy. Mark didn't skimp out either. For every bit of information Phil chose to reveal, Mark would simply crack a smile and voice a moment in his life that counted as a part of his personal history.

The situation for Phil was near-perfect in every sense of the word. Perfect would have had Fantasy Mark suddenly materialize –especially since one month had now been officially over – but Brooks restrained himself from rushing Reality Mark and letting the chips fall where they may.

"Hey there Brooks." A dry, husky tone coined in cutting into Phil's would-be thoughts of reminisce. The young man looked up from where he sat. "Mind if I join you?"

"Oh. Uh sure." Phil straightened himself in his seat. A wide smile splashed onto his face in a practiced fashion. "What can I do for you Glenn?"

Glenn Jacobs was Mark's half brother. From what Calaway had told him, Phil knew that both men shared a different mother as a result of an almost three year relationship that Calaway Sr. had outside of his marriage.

* * *

_Heavy jades sat staring up at the ceiling. He didn't mind these petting sessions as much as he thought –or possibly hoped –he would have. After getting shampooed once by the younger brunette, Mark had come to enjoy the feel of having Phil's thin fingers run gently through his long, curly locks. It relaxed the older man as effectively as morphine would to someone in pain. And since Calaway had proclaimed very adamantly about his disdain for long shampooing sessions, lying down with his head rested on Phillip's lap was the next best way to getting that relaxing fix daily. _

"_You know," Mark's voice grated against his throat, "I hear you talk about the kind of man your Dad was, and two things come to mind." _

"_What?" Phil's voice was low._

"_One, your Dad tried to kill you. And two is the fact that it sort of hurts not being able to relate at all. I can't recall having that sort of relationship with my Dad. It's as if I've forced myself to forget the good times." Mark swung his jades back a bit so as to catch a glimpse of Phil's still slightly red face. His small smile grew slightly. "It looks like I can really say I was a bastard son."_

"_Why do you keep saying that? I mean you were a kid right? Kids are allowed to make mistakes. And it's alright to forgive them. I'm sure your Dad did."_

"_It was never a question about whether or not he forgave me Phil. No matter what stupid shit I pulled, he always forgave me." Mark shot his eyes back to the ceiling. A dark shadow blanketed over them. "I just wasn't man enough to forgive him."_

"_Forgive him?" Phil parroted faintly. "For what?"_

"_For loving us. For holding us close and promising to never betray us. For telling us to trust him without fail." Mark sighed heavily. His smile dropped. "He did all of that in order to deepen the wound."_

_Despite the lengthy pause handed to him on a silver platter and even garnished to boot, Phil opted to stay silent. _

"_Glenn's the result of an affair. An affair that ran for three whole years right under our noses. It sickened me to know that the man I looked up to turned out to be a rotten snake-in-the-grass. And I loathed the fact that no matter what I did to him afterwords, he just brushed it off with a hearty smile and held out his arms in forgiveness. As if he still had that kind of power." The venom slowly dissipated out of his words. "Mom soon forgave him and took Glenn in after his mother passed away. I guess it was because Glenn reminded me of the Dad I loved that I rejected him in the beginning. But the kid grew on me. He had a lot of persistence and treated me like a younger brother. He's always looking out for me and keeping me in line." Despite the ghost smile gracing his face, Mark's expression held a tinge of seriousness in the mix. "I owe him a lot."_

_Brooks simply resumed running his fingers idly through Mark's hair with massaging strength. As if coming to an unspoken agreement, both men opted to cling to the shadows of silence for the remainder of the conversation.

* * *

_

Phil watched intently as Glenn took a seat ahead of him. /I really wanna ask him about Mark./ He chewed on his mind. /I can tell Mark's hiding stuff from me./ Phil caught his thoughts in a net webbed by guilt. /But then again, I'm hiding things too. Even though we agreed to talk to each other without bias, and even though he kisses me every day.../ Phil's mind trailed off. His face lit up lightly. The moment of recollection came mercifully soon. /Why am I still afraid of telling him everything? I'm sure if I did then he'd do the same./

"So how's my Big Bro?"

Phil's mind ricocheted into the reality that had both he and Glenn seated at a table in a small fast food joint. "Uh, M-Mark's doing fine. Just fine."

"Oh that's good to hear. You guys getting along okay?"

"Yeah." /I can't deal with this guy too well./ "He's uh... really growing on me."

Glenn sprung a side smile. "I have to admit that I was beyond surprised when I heard that he was staying with you. I mean with your history and everything, it's shocking that Mark's still there and you're still breathing."

The insult hit Phil hard. He scowled heavily. "Mark doesn't care about my past. He's not like the rest of you who judge only after seeing the cover."

"What else can you expect when the contents are just as the label spells?" The older man leaned back in his chair. "I didn't come talking to you to spit insults Brooks. To each his own I always say."

Phil's poor defenses crashed quicker than a pile of sand under a tsunami. "W-Well why did you? I thought you hated my guts."

"That's debatable. It really all depends on what you call hate. Crap, I'm straying again." He sighed heavily. He leaned closer to Phil. "Look, I'm just worried about Mark. And after watching you go from gloom-and-doom to happy-go-lucky in just one month, I think I ought to give you some advice."

Phil gave him a lengthy look of suspicion before conceding. "Okay."

"Now I'm guessing you've kept up your end of the deal. Right?" Phil nodded his head adding relief to Glenn. "I just want to tell you that Mark is a really nice guy. He's so nice that people easily mistake his caring feelings for love. It's not love Phil. It is curiosity and sympathy. That's it."

Phil drew back a bit giving the conversation channels more leg room. "I don't get where you're going."

"You may have fooled everyone Phil, but I know that you still love Mark just as much as you did all those years ago." His speedy tone did not falter to give Phil a second of thought. "Now I don't know what your plan is, but if it entails anything remotely close to telling Mark all about your past lifestyle and then icing it with that little secret of ours, then I am not going to sit quietly and let it happen."

"I didn't -"

Glenn sharply intervened. "Your innocent act doesn't work on me Brooks." Phil gaped slightly at the man. "It's as clear as day that you want to get into some deeper relationship with my brother, and even though I'm in two minds about that, the ultimate decision is Mark's. However, you know what will happen if you cross that line. He'll remember everything and everyone involved will be pushing up daises." He frowned heavily. "Especially you."

Phil paused in reverend silence momentarily. His mind flashed over the events leading up to this point. July twenty six. "All right I'll cut the bull Glenn."

"Please." Sarcasm laced his tongue.

Brooks' eyes scanned the table. "I do want a relationship with Mark. That dream hasn't changed even after all the crap that happened in the past. And with things as they are right now, that dream probably will never change." He heaved a deep sigh. "I was silently hoping that he and I could take a step forward and even cement everything without ever having to delve into that boiling cauldron. But if things continue like this, then the risk that we will is greatly increased. And I didn't want that."

Glenn lifted his heavy brows. "Didn't?"

"Yeah." Phil lifted his eyes to Glenn. "But now it doesn't matter if he finds out or not. What Mark does after is a consequence I've been running from for close to five years. And I won't run anymore."

"So you're saying that no matter what, even if Mark's feelings aren't love, you want him to be yours?" Phil nodded pointedly. "You do recall that he has a policy right?"

"Yeah."

"It's a policy that he will never consciously break. No matter what."

"I know."

Glenn dropped his weight back onto the chair. His large arms folded tightly across his chest. Deep shadows sat over his eyes making color identification impossible. It was hard to tell if Glenn was frowning or not as the man was born lacking noticeable eyebrows. /Curse his hardheadedness. He's going to cost us our lives./

"You seem pretty confident Phil. The last time we spoke you were just desperate for a way out. Now you're risking life and limb? What's with the sudden change of heart?"

"I don't believe in luck Glenn." The older man sat confused. "I don't believe in coincidence, or alignment of the stars, or destiny, or fate. But after five years of reeling in guilt, I get the chance to apologize to Mark and either make up for lost time or duck for cover should bombs start falling. Call it divine intervention or karma, but whatever happened has given me the opportunity to spend the best three months with Mark. And I don't care much about the outcome. Just as long as he enjoys himself."

Glenn's demeanor got less serious, "Are you really going to tell him Phil?"

"To tell you the truth Glenn, it's debatable. I'm peeing my pants here just imagining how much he'd hate me if I did." The younger man sighed heavily. "But I've been thinking about it, and I truly feel like I should. It's been a long time coming, and with things the way they are," /With him kissing me every day and Edge looming over me/ "he's bound to find out on his own." /Besides if I tell Mark now, I won't have to worry about Edge./

A small smile sat on Glenn's face. "You know I think I've misjudged you Phil. It takes a lot of guts to come to that sort of conclusion especially when you know what's coming." He landed a hard pat on the man's stiff shoulder. "I respect that."

/Don't. In the end I'm just doing it to save my own ass./ Phil fought to keep his eyes on Glenn, and hide the intentions that streamed below his expression. "Thanks." He choked silently on the word.

Glenn stood to his feet. "Well, I ought to get going. Unlike you, I have things to do that don't involve WWE." He smiled at Phil. "See you."

Phil gave a stiff wave. It was a wonder to the younger man how exactly had Glenn missed the tension encasing him. "Yeah."

"Oh." Glenn paused at the door causing Phil to flinch. He looked over his high shoulder. "Since you plan on telling him no matter what, can you please not mention the fact that almost everyone knew? Just keep it to you and him."

"Sure." Phil coughed up a smile.

His eyes didn't break from Glenn until the older man had left their range. Phil's head collapsed onto the table knocking the surface hard. /I guess I better tell him after all./ He buried his face in the covered wood. /It's the right thing to do, and it'll get rid of Adam before I have to do anything./ He groaned loudly. /And just when I was one step closer to getting my Fantasy Mark. I guess lies really make for a bad foundation./

* * *

The bell finally rung with CM Punk lying lifeless under Jeff Hardy. Jeff immediately sprung to his feet, grabbed the belt and climbed to the top turnbuckle – his comfort zone. Phil stared at the blaring lights above him, and simply allowed himself to be ushered out of the ring by the helping hands of stand by referees.

"You okay Brooks?" A soothing voice tuned in from his left.

"Yeah." Phil croaked. "Just need to soak a bit tonight." He tried to crack a laugh but the rippling effects of the Swanton Bomb that his ribs had sustained earlier did not allow him the comforting pleasure.

Once backstage, Phil simply sat down on the bench with his head plastered to the wall behind. With eyes closed, Phil tried to mentally will his strength back to him. However, the battle wounds proved too deep for the young brunette, and soon he opted to give up on the venture and lose his mind to deep thought. /I better head home quickly. I'm getting really hungry. Maybe he'll cook something edible tonight./ He scoffed slightly – the act backfired as his ribs strained closer to the breaking point. /I better drop this mood. I have to tell him everything. No more hiding and sweeping the elephant under the rug. It's right that he knows./

"Hey there Philly."

Despite recognizing the swaggered voice, Phil still sold shock when he looked up at the owner. "A-Adam!" He drew in the reins on his voice toning it down to a more normal level. "Uh... w-what are you doing here?"

Adam sauntered over to Phil. He was clad in a lone star T-Shirt and rugged denims dyed in navy blue. His cocky smirk sat high on his lips while his blues eyes held bold colors of mischief. He was scaring Phil and he knew it.

"Is that anyway to greet an old friend?" The older blond sat down beside Phil – relishing in the fact that Phil visibly flinched away. "Tell me Philly, do you know what day it is?"

"J-July twenty six. Night Of Champions of course."

"Ah." Copeland rested his back gently on the wall. His eyes still fixed on Phil. "That is true, but today serves another purpose." When Phil opted to exercise silence, Adam continued. "It marks the start of my free month. And because twenty is such a high number, I came to personally suggest that you start tonight."

"Are you insane?" He hissed lowly. Due to a few stragglers still round up in the room, Phil kept his voice below a whisper. "I just finished battling with Hardy. Plus I'm overworked." /There's no way I'm doing this! Not now when I finally got the courage to talk to Mark!/ "I promise to start tomorrow."

"And give you a full twenty four hours to talk to Mark?" Adam's smirk etched deeper into his face. "I don't think so."

/Don't even think about it creep!/ "Look Adam, I'm not doing anything with you. The deal's off. I'm prepared to finally take the consequences of my actions."

"Even though you know Mark will rather die than to speak your name ever again?"

"That's perfect." Phil's tone grew bold. "Because I'd rather die than keep my end of the deal with a scum bag like you."

Adam's face showed a shimmer of anger. It struck faster than lightning and vanished with the same speed. "It seems you've grown a bit cocky Philly. But if I were you, I'd clear that little glitch away." Phil clenched his jaw tightly. Adam's smirk returned from the dead. "Aw. Don't tell me you forgot."

"Forgot? What are you talking about?"

The older blond leaned in closer to Phil. "That I'm holding a double-sided coin." He scoffed slightly at Phil's sudden blood-drained expression. "So you do remember. You had me going for a second there Philly."

"I don't care about that." His voice shook slightly. "I plan on telling Mark everything. He might hate me for what I did to him, but he won't hate me because of my past and that's good -"

"Mark's not the only one in the dark Philly. Open up those big, pretty eyes of yours and take a look around." Adam's smirk cracked into a smile. "Aside from five or six of us, no one else knows about you or Mark. And everyone's in the dark when it comes to that one tiny little fact." He placed his lips a few millimeters away from Phil's listening ear. "That Mark Calaway is your -"

"All right!" Phil cut in. His coarse breathing stifled allowing him to speak. "How long?"

"Well for starters you'll have to stay overnight tonight." He drew back.

"Fine." He spat. "But I have to go back home for some stuff."

"And I'll come with you. To make sure you don't go spilling the beans." Copeland rose to his feet. "You've got ten minutes to get ready. Just direct me and I'll take you home."

Welding his teeth tightly together was not the only reason Phil had remained silent. His boiling rage was the second runner up. And for the sake of saving face, he chose to clench fists and channel the anger to proper outlets that resulted in as minimal attention as possible. Adam exited the locker room his large smile still plastered across his face.

* * *

After a lengthy, unintentional boycott of insurmountable proportions, Phillip Brooks had finally had enough and just one day into the boycott, the young brunette bought a new television. In the end though, it was Mark who ended up watching it the most. Often times Mark ended up watching enough TV for both men. Tonight was no different. An old western – a genre that topped Mark's favorites – titled 'Pale Rider' was showing. However, despite the fact that both the genre and the main star –Clint Eastwood – were both favorites of Mark, the movie simply acted as a charm that warded off the impending silence.

Surprisingly to Calaway he had succumbed to the effects of boredom. It was no secret that he could have easily left and gone off to indulge in a massive gambling spree, however two highly important things stood in his way. One he still had no key – a fact he plotted to eventually bring to light but preferred it to stay hidden as having no key kept him in his cage. And he liked it. Two, being intentionally stored in the apartment gave him a legit reason not to go to the gym often, and seeing his doctor was made into another rarity. Although those were the top two reasons it was not as if the countdown stopped there. Mark Calaway had one more reason to stay on board the ship labeled his current situation, and it was thanks to his sympathetic nature that he felt that reason necessary.

* * *

_The water poured heavily from the tap hitting the dishes below hard. It wasn't as if the younger brunette did not have an automatic dishwasher, it was just that he did not mind washing things by hand. As per usual – a routine he had gotten quite accustomed to – Mark Calaway sat on the high chair behind the counter. His arms folded across the granite counter top of the overhanging island. His deep jades, not leaving Phil's body for one second, watched the happenings ahead in silent observation. _

"_What happened to your Dad?"_

_Phil stopped moving. His eyes locked on to the dish in his hand. _

_/I struck a nerve./ Mark continued to probe. "You told me you now have the power to kill him, but you won't. Does that mean he's still alive?"_

"_Partially." Phil turned the water off. His eyes still looked at the dishes in the sink. His expression chomped on woe. "A few years after he kicked me out, he came looking for me. I used to go visit my Mom and siblings when he wasn't around. I guess Mom must have told him I came by, because soon after that people started talking about some old guy threatening to call the cops if they didn't tell him where I was. Needless to say, he found me but I refused to go back. He tried to use the whole 'your sister misses you' line, so I gave him an ultimatum. I'd go home if he'd pack up and leave for good."_

_Mark continued to watch Phil in silence allowing the young man room to speak._

"_He didn't want to leave of course, so I walked. He followed. The guy I was hanging with got mad because my Dad was cutting into his time. So he took a steel pipe in the nearby alleyway and beat him with it." Phil clenched his jaw and tensed almost instantly. "I stood there in shock. My Dad kept screaming. He tired to fight back, but the guy hit him in the head and he stopped moving. But the guy didn't stop there. He just kept hitting. And hitting. And hitting." He drew in a deep shaky breath. "And I just watched the whole thing. I remember how much I wished that guy would have killed him, and how much I cursed my Dad's survival. He's in a vegetative state now. My mom passed away soon after, so me being the oldest child, I have the right to end his life. Finish the job. But I can't. I think it's probably the blood in me that prevents me from killing my own father. But then, it may just be because I want him to suffer alone in that gray area between death and life for the rest of his own natural life."_

_/Took the words right out of my mouth./ Mark blinked slowly. A tinge of recognition sailed across the glassy plains of his sunken jades. _

_Phil turned to Mark – a surprising smile splashed onto his face. "Well, I guess that's about it. He's still in the hospital. Doctors tell me he might die a year from now. Maybe less."_

"_It sounds like you've made up your mind to let him live and suffer." _

_Phil's smile slowly dissipated as he stared at Mark. "You're right. I'm the worst person out there. I should just forgive and forget, pull the plug and let him go rest in peace. But..." His tone rose instantly. "Why should I do that? He's the one, who almost killed me, so why does he deserve to die a peaceful death? It's not fair!"_

"_No one can blame you for thinking that way Phil." Mark's soothing tone –although dry – simmered Phil's rising anger. "But aren't you just putting yourself through hell like this? The longer he lives the more you're picked apart with guilt."_

"_So what should I do? What can I do to make everything better?" Phil's tone hit desperation. "I want him dead, but if I do that it'll be like committing murder because I have a motive. And I'm only letting him live so that he can suffer longer. So what do I do?"_

"_You close your heart and pull the plug. You're only finishing what that guy had started. You're speeding up the inevitable. Nothing more."_

"_But -"_

"_Look Phil," Mark heaved a deep sigh. /I know what you're going through./ "I can attest to the feeling of having heavy guilt. It's like a virus that eats away at your very soul, so I suggest if you have any you should get rid of it. And if your Dad's life is the precursor for that virus, well it's time you got it cured."_

_Phil dropped his shoulders with eyes scanning the tile beneath his feet, like a child being scolded. "Not every virus has a cure Mark. There's just some you live with because losing your mind sounds a lot better than facing the consequence."_

"_That's cowardice Phil."_

"_I know." He scoffed beneath a heavy breath. His eyes lifting back to Mark revealing the canyons of hurt that etched horizontally across his face. "And I doubt I'll ever change."

* * *

_

/What the hell did he mean by that?/ Mark frowned heavily at the moving pictures on the screen. /At what point did he stop talking about his father?/ The older man heaved a exasperated sigh, throwing his head up and back to get the ceiling in full view. /I doubt I'll ever change? You sound like me Phil./ His folded arms tightened across his chest. /What are you so afraid of? I made this deal so that you'd tell me everything, so why are you still hiding things from me? It's not like time's on our side when it comes to -/ As if suddenly hit by a bolt of electricity, Mark's straying mind recalled itself instantly. /Wait. Why do I care so much?/ He leaned forward eyes dropped on the television screen with waves of disbelief roaring through them. /I've been with him for a month. I'm getting too comfortable. Not to mention kissing him every day.../ He flicked his eyebrows up slightly. /Not that I mind or anything./ He sighed heavily once more before dropping his weight into the remainder of the couch. His deep jades scanning the ceiling once more. /Maybe I do like him. A little more than I should. That explains everything./ He ran a weighty hand down his face. /When did I start liking him a little more? And why is this feeling so famil -/

The door cracked open easily shattering Mark's wave of thought. He sat up and looked over at the now wide open door to spot Phil speed-walking into the apartment.

"Hey Phil how was -" The younger man bolted by Mark and swiftly locked himself into the bedroom. Mark frowned a bit. /What's his rush?/

Mark rose from the couch and walked over blatantly to the room door. Nerves he didn't know he had racked every bit of his body. It wasn't as if Mark had been chiseled completely from rock, however, it did come as a surprise to the older man at how nervous he was getting all of a sudden. /I've lived with him for a month now, so what's with this edgy feeling?/ Mark shook his shoulders so as to relieve the building tension. He turned the door knob a bit shocked to find it unlocked when he could have sworn he heard the lock shut. Once inside the bedroom, Mark found Phil wildly throwing clothes into a large gym bag. The man held panic on his face.

"Phil? Are you okay?" Mark stepped forward cautiously.

Phil jumped back once he spotted Mark. "Mark! When did you -" /Calm down./ "Uh, yeah." He glanced at his bag and then back at Mark's questioning look. "I uh...I'm staying overnight someplace. I'll be back in the morning. Probably Tuesday morning."

"So you're staying at someone's place? For two nights?"

"Yeah." Phil turned his attention back to his bag. He stuffed a few more items in. "So uh, don't wait up okay?"

Mark creased his brows. He took a few more steps forward to lessen the distance between himself and Phillip. "You look like you're packing for a road trip. Is WWE moving again?"

"N-No. Not yet." Not trusting his expression, Phil tired his best to hide his face by looking elsewhere. He zipped up the bag and turned to leave only to bump into the wall that was Mark's chest. "I have to get going Mark." /That's right keep it casual./ His eyes sat on the floor.

"Look at me." The older man commanded softly. A deep frown marring his face.

"I'm sure you like your cooking, but if you run out of food, just search online for a place to call." Phil dug deep into his pocket and yanked out his wallet. He handed it to Mark still not making eye contact. "My credit card is inside if you need it."

"I don't need your money." Mark's voice grew gravelly. "Look at me." His frown deepened once more.

As if determined to stare the floor to death, Phil's eyes did not lift up to meet Mark's heavy jades. He pulled back his wallet. "I'm sure you've got plenty of entertainment here, but it's okay to invite people over to keep you company."

"I like my solitude. And besides, you're only gone for two nights, right?" When Phil didn't respond, Mark's anger stemming from an override of nerves sparked brighter. "Look at me."

Phil raised his head slightly to show promise, however his cerulean eyes quickly darted to his immediate left. "I have to get going Mark." He moved forward, but Mark remained anchored to the ground. "Look, just move okay. I'm in a bit of a rush."

Mark's frown had successfully craved into his very skull. "Look at me Phil."

Phil clenched his jaw. Eyes still venturing over Mark's body rather than making contact with overcast jades. "Mark please just..." He paused, and yanked out a pair of keys from his pocket.

Mark looked down at the keys. Phil opened the man's right hand and placed the cold set of metal in the middle of his palm. "What is this?"

"My keys." Phil pinched the middle one. His eyes sat on Mark's palm. "This one opens the front door. Now you can go out and do whatever you like. without having to worry about the apartment."

Mark stared deadpan at the man and dropped the keys almost dramatically. They hit the floor loudly. "Look at me Phil."

/I can't you idiot!/ Phil bit into his lower lip unconsciously. The act proved to be the final straw for Calaway. By clutching Phil's cheeks in one hand, Mark yanked the younger man's face forcing his deep cerulean upwards to a pair of smoldering jades. Phil immediately slid his eyes back down, but nothing could hide what Mark's eyes had landed upon.

"What..." Words became uncertain to Mark's vocabulary. He struggled for the right tone. "Is that a shiner?"

Phil glanced up at Mark only to shoot his gaze back downwards slightly to the left. The worry implanted in Mark's face border lined a look of anger. "I-It's from my match with Jeff. We were trading blows."

Mark pulled back the shiner to his inspecting gaze. "Didn't your match finish two hours ago?" Phil remained silent. Mark continued to probe in a dry, yet welcoming tone. "Don't trainers insist on treating all bruises immediately?" Phil still clung to silence. "This wound is fresh Phil."

Brooks tore away instantly and shoved –all gears maxed – past Mark. His burst of speed was halted immediately as Mark grabbed his retreating arm with force, spun the older man around and without a second to spare, locked Phil in a deep kiss. For the start, Phil went along with the motions, but upon feeling the weight of his gym bag yanking at his arm, he instantly broke the kiss midway.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" He snapped. /What the hell am I saying?/

"That's what I'd like to ask." Mark's expression held suspicion close. "You say you're leaving for about two nights, yet you've packed for a week. You don't want to look me in the eye. And then that shiner you claim is old." He stepped closer to Phil. "Tell me what's going on."

"Just drop it. It's none of your concern." Phil turned once more to exit, only to have Mark pull him back. His eyes lit up with frustration. "What is your problem Mark? I have to get going now!"

"Where are you going?" Despite being shouted at, Mark's voice had not raised a notch. "At least tell me that."

"To stay with somebody."

"Who?"

"A friend."

"Why?"

Phil threw up his hands theatrically. "Look it doesn't matter! It doesn't concern you Mark so just drop it!"

"Phil," He calmly approached the retreating man. "It's obvious something's wrong. So just tell -"

"Stop acting like you know me!" Phil yanked his arm out of Mark's clutches. "You don't know anything all right! You're just a pet so stop getting involved!"

It wouldn't even take a blind man to see the pain that colored Mark's face in a deep shade. The working eyes of Phillip Brooks were more than enough.

"Mark...I..." /I know I promised to tell you everything. But I can't./ He hesitated on stepping forward, and instead turned around to face the open door – letting his back absorb the heart-breaking look on Mark's face. /I'm a coward./ "Just keep yourself safe." /I know I'm being selfish./ "I'll be back before you know it." /But just wait on me. Just wait until I fix this. Please./

For reasons only known to Phillip Brooks, he kept his thoughts silent instead of voicing them to ease the tsunami of emotions that came crashing down on Mark. When not even Mark's breathing could be heard in the deafening silence, Phil ceased the moment and left. The burning gaze he had felt earlier from Calaway was not there as he walked through the front door – a bit slower when compared to his earlier entrance speed – and the main reason for the absence was simple. It was Mark's turn to stare the floor to death.


	9. Cold Check

**I told you there would be more to come :D Enjoy gentle readers!**

**Okay...back to the story**

* * *

The restaurant was filled to the brim with life and subsequent noises of various levels. It was the latter part of the afternoon and yet in some weird twist of fate or perhaps a blessing in a well cloaked disguise, the sun continued to blare down on the exposed pieces of meat that walked and drove below its full radiance. Inside the restaurant, however, was cool offering the same type of relief as a glass of iced lemonade would to a parched throat.

It was also inside this restaurant that Mark Calaway chose to take refugee after not only being nearly baked to death under the flames of the violent sun, but also being nearly mauled to death by adoring fans who recognized him in a mere instant. Due to the restaurant being located in the yesteryear section of the city, Calaway was easily able to evade and hide from his greedy mass of followers and adoring fans. The area around the fifties-themed restaurant was surrounded solely by relics of a past that some would either cherish or chose to forget. A majority of the surrounding shops, and stores piled up in the small corner were either completely stuck in the past having been remained unchanged for centuries, or – like the current restaurant – had been at least built on the timeless foundations with interior decorations that stemmed from that time line.

For a little over an hour Mark had been content with sitting ever so nicely in the quaint restaurant and eating whatever he could find on the menu. However, after realizing that –due to the fact that he had only intended to take a short stroll today and not go spending money – he had not carried his wallet and hence would be unable to pay for all those delicious meals, Calaway quickly rung up the one man he knew would come for him no matter what. And that man was undoubtedly Glenn Jacobs. Inside a time period of the fifteen minutes it had taken Mark to get his second dish of food for the day, his younger brother finally arrived with a fire lit under his wheels. After removing his shades to get a better look at where he had been so frantically – in his mind anyways – called to, it was clearer to Mark and anyone else who chose to look that Glenn Jacobs was shocked. He walked over to Calaway after what seemed like forever, and took a stiff sit onto the plush seat.

"Hey Glenn. Glad you made it."

Glenn acknowledged his brother with a curt nod – confusion marred heavily on his face. "What is this about Mark? You never call me. Ever. And now you do, and it's to meet you in some backwater restaurant?"

"Hey" Mark shot the plastic fork towards Glenn – the syrupy pancake nearly sliding off the tips "This place has character. That's all."

"Character... ghetto... whatever. Why did you call me out here Mark? I mean it's not like you're dying, or stranded somewhere."

"And I'm sure you're all choked up about that huh?" Glenn sharpened his glare. Mark pushed aside his empty plate after swallowing his last piece of breakfast. "I don't have any money on me. Can you take care of this?"

"Damn it Mark!" A pair of tightly closed fists slammed hard on the table. "How much?" He barked.

"Well the lady over there said it was close to fifteen right now, but that was before the -"

"I'm talking about how much you gambled!" He all but shouted at the older man.

Mark frowned heavily, "I didn't gamble. I haven't for a while now."

"Oh." Glenn shook away the look of deep thought embedded onto his face. "Then why the lack of funds?"

"I left my wallet back at Phil's apartment. I was getting tired of staring at the TV and waiting so I left to take a stroll." He heaved a heavy sigh. "But, a couple of crazy fans spotted me and damn are they persistent. I think I'm probably twenty blocks away from the apartment now."

"Actually, if Phil's place is so close to the arena, then you're probably twice that number of blocks. Maybe even three times." He leaned back in his chair. "I'll take care of the bill on one condition."

Mark rolled his eyes slightly. "What? You want me to do a rain dance?"

"Come to the gym with me. I'm heading over there in a few and I want you to join me." Mark scrunched his nose in disgust. "Be smart Mark. You need to go to the gym anyways, and this food isn't free."

"Don't remind me." He folded his arms tightly across his chest. "Fine you damn extortionist. It's a deal."

"You'll thank me someday."

Mark scoffed dryly. "Yeah, when hell freezes over. Twice."

Glenn cracked a satisfied smile. "Good." Thinking paused his actions momentarily. /I wonder if Phil told him already. I better ask him since I have the chance./ He titled his head slightly to the left nervously scratching the side of his neck. "By the way, uh... I spoke to Phil the other day and -"

"You spoke to Phil?" Without handing over a single second, Mark leaped out onto his feet, leaned across the full length of the rectangular table and grabbed Glenn by the shirt bringing the younger man closer to his face. "When? Where? What did he tell you?"

"Ah... uh..." /What is he going on about?/

"Glenn!" Using his strength, Mark gave Glenn a quick, hard shake successfully bring the younger man back to the realm of reality. "Spill it out already! Tell me where the fuck Phil is!"

"I don't fucking know!" In that instant Glenn stood and shoved Mark away. He offered a short moment for both men to recollect. "I don't know where Phil is."

"Oh. I...uh...I see." Heavy lids anchored slowly over sunken jades. His expression weaved in hints of disappointment. Dancing with gravity allowed for Mark to simply fall effortlessly back into his seat. His tone lowered drastically, "I'm... sorry about that."

After gathering a few moments of silence, Glenn finally found the strength to take a seat. It was no secret that Mark Calaway was a hard man to read, and subsequently an easy man to misread. However, in all of his life, Glenn Jacobs could vouch for one well-kept secret about his older brother. And that was just how much harder it was to read Mark when he expressed his emotions at a volatile level. It was always either or with Mark after all. Either he was too well hidden or too outspoken. The latter frightened Glenn a bit more than he would ever admit.

The younger man stared intently at his brother – whose head was now hung slightly so as to offer those heavy jades a better view of the table below – before sighing loudly to break the deafening silence. It caught Mark's attention as he raised an eyebrow and even his head slightly, however all signs of life were instantly razed right after as Mark went right back to having a stare down with the table.

"Mark," Glenn paused for a second to reconstruct his sentence. "Why are you asking about Phil? Did something happen to him?"

"I don't know." Mark's voice scrounged above a whisper but nothing more than. "He left."

"He what?"

"Left." Mark exhaled loudly as he sat back and faced Glenn with deathly cold eyes. "He just came back one night and left."

"Wait as in he disappeared? Don't you know where he is?"

"I don't know Glenn! If I knew why would I be asking you?" The outburst shocked both men. Mark instantly grasped his calm aura for support by rubbing his temples intently. "Like I said. He came home, packed and left. He said he was staying overnight with some friend, but he wouldn't say who."

"Well in that case he's with this friend right?"

"Phil left a week ago Glenn. And he hasn't called or visited since." He clenched his jaw tightly in irritation. "Then again, I shouldn't expect anything else seeing that I mean absolutely nothing to him."

"Whoa. Whoa. What? You mean nothing..." He trailed to think. "No. No Mark, that's wrong." /Didn't Phil tell him anything? Damn that two bit!/ His response garnered a confused look from Mark. "Look, what in the world made you think something like that?"

A small frown craved into his forehead, "It's not something I dreamt up Glenn. He said it himself, that I'm just -" /A pet?/ He swallowed his words. /I can't tell Glenn that!/ Mark scanned his mind for an alternative. The art of paraphrasing was popular after all. "He said that I was just nothing. Absolutely nothing and so I have no right to go probing."

"The hell? Why would he say that?"

"I don't know." He blew out a soft sigh in the form of exhalation before dragging open palms down his face in an effort to emphasize distraught and tiredness. His hands fell pointedly on the table below. "You wanna know something Glenn. I made a deal with him a few weeks ago. An information trade of sorts that had the basic 'you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours' idea behind it. It was just because I wanted to get to know him better. But I always had the feeling he was hiding out on me." He dropped his eyes slightly, scoffing softly beneath a heated breath. "This is the one time I'd give anything to be wrong."

It took Glenn a few long seconds to fully process what Mark had said. Humility was not a rarity for Mark Calaway. It was really easy for Mark to be humble and honest – two qualities of a good man in the minds of many. However, due to Mark's intimidating appearance it was quite a shocker for people to see the large man being so sincere in his speech. And it was even more shocking that Mark felt this way over a man. Bittersweet was the best word for Glenn's current frame of mind. On one hand, he was happy Mark seemed to care so much about one person as opposed to being constantly out-of-character selfish all the time. However, on the other hand Glenn still had to uphold his standing promise – not to let Mark break his policy.

"Phil's a grown man Mark, so don't go getting your panties in a knot over where he is and stuff."

Not taking too lightly to Glenn's causal tone, Mark opted to sit his own on dry ice. "I wouldn't but don't you think it's strange that he'd give the keys to his abode to a man he's only known for a month?"

/That is weird./ Glenn dropped the informal act. "He probably just trusts you a lot. That's all."

"I guess." His expression mirrored that of an unsatisfied child. "Well, I take it that you don't have any idea where he is."

"What made you think that I would know?"

"You work with him Glenn." Mark folded his arms across his chest, responding in a very matter-of-factly-tone. "It's only natural."

/He's dead serious isn't he?/ The response caught Glenn off guard aiding in his sudden inability to speak. /That aside...the real weird thing here is why he's so suddenly... concerned./ "Well I don't make it my job to keep tabs on my coworkers Mark, so I'm the last person who'd know about their whereabouts." /It's almost like he loves him or something./ "And besides, why does it matter where Phil is?" Mark opened his mouth to respond only to have Glenn cut him short. "You've stayed with other people before and they've all left you alone in their place for weeks, sometimes even months. In all that time I never once heard you complain or question, so why now?"

Noting the staid tone laced in his brother's words, Mark opted for the more honest answer. "It's because it's Phil."

"Because it's Phil?" Glenn shot up an eyebrow in perplexity. "Why Phil?"

"Because he's..." He rolled around his right wrist mid air for a moment as if trying to pry the answer out of thin air, stopping once the word came to him. "It's because Phil's special. That's why."

"Special? What?" He scoffed wickedly. "What in the world makes Phil special? Huh? Is it because he told you some sob story?"

From the record breaking depths his frown dug into his forehead, to the semi-present snarl that crept up on his face like ivy on a brick wall, it was more than evident that Mark Calaway did not take lightly to Glenn's comment. Or at least the insinuation behind it. His jades darkened beneath the shadow cast by a frowning brow as he glared sharpened daggers at Glenn, causing the younger man to break out into a cold sweat.

A heavy sigh escaped Glenn once his ice blues landed on the disdain stamped on his older brother's face. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that and I take it back. It's natural to worry when someone disappears without a trace after all, so I promise that I'll ask around right after we settle with the gym okay?"

After taking a moment to decipher the level of sincerity in his brother's apology, Mark dropped the menacing look for a much softer version of intimidation. "Fine. Oh and since you're paying, can I get one more plate of blueberry pancakes? They're delicious. You should get yourself some too."

A small laugh escaped the younger man bringing a faint smile to Calaway's face. "All right. One plate and then it's to the gym. Deal?"

Mark threw Jacobs a swift pat on the shoulder from across the narrow table. "Deal."

* * *

The blood pumping beats of the techno soundtrack lightly blared through designated speakers and easily filled up the large room. The low hums of the various running machines as they carried people to digital distances, and the clanking sounds of aggressive iron weights clashing at lightning speed easily mixed in adding a bit of atmospheric noise to the building. A look outside the multiple, over-sized windows with blinds rolled and pinned above, gave away the fact that the boiling afternoon had finally morphed into a more visually appealing evening – complete with dark blue skies dotted with bright infant stars.

Many of the people inside had fled the building once the day sank into the open jaws of the menacing night, however, the majority stayed behind to gather that one last sit up, or lap on the treadmill. Phillip Brooks' trainer was not part of the group who chose to stay behind. The older blond – who was graying by the second it seemed – had punched out of the gym to head home before six. Three hours later and Phil was still very much pumping iron and getting a few more tidbits of cardio punched into his workout routine. Due to its extreme proximity to the hotel where many, if not all, of the wrestlers stayed, the gym was an instant favorite and saw the faces – and bodies – of many of the popular superstars. With his trainer gone, Phil was stuck on his own and willed to make up his own routine to which he abandoned halfway. Despite being surrounded by "distracting visuals" and the ever-present reminder as to why he was at the gym (to work off the new love handles that came with the dreaded age), Phil found it hard to keep his focus.

/It's been a week now./ He shot a fierce gaze at the large hanging sandbag before whip-lashing it with a high kick. The chain above rattled loudly as the bag swung back violently into place. Brooks delivered another spine shattering kick to the upper section of the bag. /I should just go back and apologize./ Two heavy upper punches were speedily delivered to the under seam that threaded the middle section of the black sandbag. /I can't keep running forever right?/ A hard right hand blasted into the stiff sandbag with enough force to send it swinging backwards. /I said some hurtful stuff when I should have just told him right then and there. You're just a pet? What the hell? I should have just told him everything!/ Another chain rattling kick was delivered to the brutalized bag. /But if I told him, it wasn't like my problem with Adam would've just vanished right?/ After doing a full spin kick, the force landed squarely on the still swinging bag. A hard upper left cut into the line of falling motion sent the bag sharply to the right. /What the heck is wrong with me? Mark's more important than saving face! I shouldn't care what people think about me. I shouldn't care if they know everything about me!/ He stopped moving and stared at the window ahead. /But if Adam tells them that Mark's my pet...No! I can't let anyone find that out. I can't let anyone find anything out! I can't allow Mark to -/ Gravity had finally had enough and threw the beaten sandbag back towards an unsuspecting Phil. It slapped him squarely in the face throwing the two hundred plus man a few feet away.

"Ouch." He mumbled lightly while checking to ensure that he wasn't bleeding. A hand graciously landed in his line of sight. He took it without a second thought. "Thanks al -" Smirk. Blue eyes. Blonde hair. Phil instantly drew his hand and body away. "Adam! What are you doing here?"

Adam looked over at a retreated Phil with a look that clearly read 'you are the dumbest thing on this planet' plastered artistically on his face. "This is a gym Phil. I'm a wrestler so I have to come here." He scoffed lightly throwing his short towel over his shoulder in ease. "But it looks to me like you're suffering from lack of concentration. Need a spotter?"

"I'm done lifting weights." His tone grew bold. "So thanks but no thanks."

He headed to walk past Adam and subsequently end all conversation with the man, but Copeland had other plans. The older blond reached out and grabbed Phil's retreating arm succeeding in bringing the man to a sudden halt. Phil turned to glare bitterly at him.

"What is it Adam?"

Copeland's lips held a sinister smirk. "Starting now I'm invoking my hour privilege." His eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store as they raked over Phil's stern expression. "You're coming home with me Phil. I'm heading over to my trainer for a few minutes, and I expect you to be ready and at my car in ten."

"I have plans." The younger man tugged on his arm all intents for escape, but the effort turned up fruitless. "Look, you've had me for a week now. If you wanted to delve deeper you know you could have. But that will have to wait for another time, because I'm going home to -"

"To what? Feed your pet? I don't think so Phil. You wanna know why?" Phil bit back the urge to snap back instead allowing Adam to continue his dribble. "It's because I..."

The older blond paused intentionally. The sudden silence further aided to angering Phil. The younger man yanked his arm away brashly out of Adam's clutches. He hadn't even gotten to the point of turning away before Copeland seized his movements in a pseudo-neck vice that hung more around the shoulders, but stapled Phil to the older blond effectively.

"Adam! What the -" His cobalt eyes merely brushed past the section between the staircase ahead and Adam, before landing on the daunting figure that stood in the empty spot. The angry pair of sapphires widened instantly. Fear ate away at the anger. "M-Mark! What are you doing here?"

Calaway stared at the two men through overcast emeralds. Despite being blatantly called to, he remained steadfast in silence determined to stare the situation down to death. An eerie calm cloaked the man heavily. As for Brooks, the same could not be said as the younger man was trying his hardest to both quiet and steady his now rapidly increased heart rate and breathing rate. /Why is Mark here?/ Panic straddled the look in his eyes taking full control in a mere instant. The feel of Edge's arm tightening around his shoulders and neck alerted him to what had to be the worst possible predicament. Him being held close to Adam and not having put up some sort of fight.

"Phil." It took a surprising amount of energy to sputter the word, and it showed clearly by his gravelly tone of voice. "You're alive."

"Of course he's alive." Both brunettes turned their attention – one filled with panic and one filled with hate – to the blond with the cocky tone. Copeland smiled brightly at the attention he suddenly garnered. "I've been taking really good care of him these past few days." He looked down at Phil's frightened expression. "Isn't that right Phil?"

Mark slid his eyes over to Phil – the hatred dissipating instantly allowing freeway for a sympathetic look. "_He's _the friend you told me about?" Phil's heart may have been pumping a mile a minute, but Calaway's pulse was now barely there. His eyes narrowed slightly in comprehension. "Copeland is -"

"Yes, I'm the guy Phil's been staying with." Once more Phil and Mark had to pay their attention to the blond. "So you don't have to worry yourself Mark, because I assure you he's quite safe and happy."

Phil looked to Mark. At the sight of Mark's deadpan expression that seemed void of any and all emotion, the man chose to harden his own outward appearance despite his innards being so close to self-destruction. /Why is he here? I wish he wasn't here!/ Trusting that he would add fuel to the fire had he chosen to voice his thoughts, Phil simply stuck to the alternative and remained silent.

"Is that so?" Mark's tone hit dry ice with both jades stuck on Phil. /Answer me Phil. Tell me what the hell is going on!/ Phil refused to comply to his mental demands.

"Really. Really." Copeland's grin widened as his eyes lit up. "Well, it seems like I better get going. I've got to get ready for later. So, I'll see you in ten minutes Philly." In the short span of half a second Adam's lips hit Phil's left cheek. No one had time to react as the older blond simply released a stunned Phil from his grasp and left the now frozen-in-heavy-tension scene.

/He kissed me! That fucker just kissed me! In front of Mark!/ Phil tore his fingers down the side of his left cheek with a rage filled glare pointed directly at the retreating silhouette of Adam Copeland. Had he been cerebral about the entirety of his current situation, Phillip Brooks would have chosen to quickly stop staring at Adam and explained everything to Mark in full detail right then and there. However, the title "Cerebral Assassin" was not his after all. And for good reason.

His eyes landed on Calaway – who still had a look of disbelief mixed with hurt etched into his face "Mark, I..." The confused tone broke off favoring silence instead. /I can't tell him anything. It's a miracle Adam didn't! I just have to leave things are they are./

Despite his resolve, his legs still itched to step forward. His hands still itched to touch the older brunette. His lips still wished to mouth some form of apology. However, Phil betrayed all urges by turning away and heading to the locker room to his left. Mark believed otherwise because as soon as Phil took a step away, Mark grabbed the man yanking him back to his current position. Despite having not to, Mark held on to the arm he had grabbed determined to hold Phil in place.

"So you and Copeland, huh." A faux smile ate away at his thin lips. His heart – a stranger to the likes of Mark Calaway – felt extremely heavy the longer he stared at Phil. "Is that what you couldn't tell me?"

He yanked his arm free taking a cautious step back away from Mark. "Just drop it Mark." Despite not wanting to, his tone skated heavily on ice.

Brooks' head hung like a scolded child with eyes searching the floor wishing it to swallow him whole. /Please. Just drop it. Erase it from memory and go away./ In the time he spent scanning the Berber carpet, Phil subsequently missed the clear shot of sadness that swam lengthily across the gelatinous depths of Mark's heavy jades. He also missed it when Mark's once clutching hand curled into a fist that sat rigidly at his side.

"Phil -" He purposefully bit his own tongue. /Wait. It's none of my business. This isn't even the right place to go discussing any of this./ "Are you coming back?"

"Yes." His tone dried and lowered.

"When?"

Phil dished out a hearty plate of cold, hard silence with a side order of an impenetrable wall made from the younger man's own will. Realizing the futility of conducting any sort of further investigation, Mark drew in a deep breath to force back any thoughts that threatened to voice themselves. He raked his hand through his hair.

"All right. I'll see you around then." The older man turned sharply on his heels and stormed down the stairs to the main floor.

The moment Mark vanished from all line of sight, Phil raised his head and his eyes to take a look around. /He's gone./ He sighed silently. /I really am despicable. But it's better this way./ The scene had garnered a few suspecting looks propelling Phil to vacate the premises. He headed over to the locker room relieved somewhat when his weary eyes had not spotted the meddling blond. He drew out his gym bag – packed to the brim with clothes – and started shuffling around for a bar of soap that chose to escape from its safe house and bury itself deep within the gray bag. In all his thinking and feelings of self-loathe, the fact that Glenn Jacobs was standing right behind him did not register in the least until the younger man turned with heading to the shower planted deep within his mind.

"Glenn!" He jolted back a bit after bumping into the wall that was the three-hundred pounder's torso. "Hey. What are you doing here?" From the deadly glare and stern look on Jacobs face, it was more than obvious to anyone – especially Phil – that the older man had not come with a casual chit-chat in mind. For that reason, Phil's barely-there smile dropped like a bomb. "Um... is something wrong?"

"Just cut the bullshit Phil, I saw that little stunt you pulled. I knew sooner or later you would have reverted right back to your old, slimy self."

Phil frowned a bit. When compared to his problems with Mark, an angry Glenn Jacobs was as intimidating as air. "Look, I'm sorry you had to see that but-"

"Oh you're sorry alright." His sharp tongue sliced through Phil's sentence with ease. "Just what the hell were you thinking Brooks?" He stepped forward causing the smaller man to take an unintentional step back. "Prancing around with your new boyfriend in front of Mark when the guy's been worried sick about you?"

/He was worried?/ The fact gave him a few notches of courage. "First off," He stopped retreating, forcing Glenn to stop advancing. "Adam isn't my boyfriend. We're just... look, the situation I'm in -"

The older man's tone ate away at the mocking theme, "Situations. Situations. It's always a fucking situation whenever you hurting Mark is concerned." To dissipate most of the rage, icy blues took a time out by looking away from the instigator and to the floor, coming back up once Glenn had managed to calm down. "So, I take it you haven't told him anything." Phil's eyes slid away momentarily answering clearly to Glenn's question. "It figures you'd try and save your own ass no matter who gets hurt in the process."

"You don't understand Glenn!" His tone scraped on intrepid desperation, "It's not like I want to stay with Adam but I just have to alright! Trust me it's better this way!"

"Trust you?" He scoffed dryly as he slowly shook his head at Phil's apologetic expression. "The last time I trusted you, Mark ended up in the middle of God-forsaken nowhere." He leaned in closer so as to drive a hard finger deep into Phil's sternum. "Either you fix this, or I will."

The older man gave one last menacing look before exiting the locker room completely leaving Phil to crumple his stance and turn to the lockers behind him for standing support. Brooks scrubbed his face using heavy hands that somehow felt ice-cold as they ran over his expression. Once free from open palms, curtained cobalt eyes washed over the plain black-and-white round clock that sat a few feet ahead. /Time's up already./ He swung his head backwards driving it forcefully to the gilled metal behind. The tinge of pain offered a sense of realness to a circumstance he hoped wasn't anything close. Due to that, his head hurt ten times more. /Damn it all./


	10. Expected Win Rate On A Draw

_**Dear Gentle Readers,**_

_**Sooooooooo...I'm off to someplace where I have NO INTERNET ACCESS for two whole months (GAH!). This, my gentle readers, unfortunately means I won't be updating Lucky Charms until I return. I AM SO SORRY T_T.**_

_**HOWEVER! Rest assured that I will be continuing this story once I return and do not be surprised when I bombard you with a truck load of completed chapters and update this story faster than you can count to ten :D HAHAHAHAHA! **_

_**P.S: For all the awesome readers and writers out there and here (lol)... HAVE AN AWESOME SUMMER! XD XD XD XD**_

**Okay...back to the story.

* * *

**

The stench was stifling. Suffocating would have been the more likeable term, however, the fact that his lungs were still able to function amidst the overwhelming odor was more than enough to render the term insufficient. The majority of the odor was bleach with a strong hint of Air Freshener. To many such a smell was customary of a well-manicured hotel room and would more than likely be described as the scent of cleanliness. In his case, cleanliness was poison to the lungs. Being used to the scent of charcoal and smoke that originated from Mark's failed attempts at successful cooking, coupled with other familiar tangs that ranged from Mark's overuse of bath soap that often times clogged the small apartment with a minty fragrance, to the slight musky aroma –that served as Mark's own bodily cologne – that would stem from Calaway the moment the brunette was in close range. Those were the scents he was used to. The scent of cleanliness with the mix of alcohol was not one of them. And it rendered him paralyzed once he became aware of the fact that he was slowly becoming accustomed to the horrendous odor.

According to the flashing blue light of the digital radio clock, which sat comfortably on top of the bedside table, Phillip Brooks should have left for his apartment thirty minutes ago. Instead, being clad in nothing but his jeans pants and socks, Brooks sat on the edge of the bed having a long stare down with the floor below. The poorly packed contents of his gym bag stared up at him from beneath the open abyss of the bag itself. /I need to go home./ It was nothing short of the truth, however what served to anchor Phil to his current position was simply the acidic guilt that had built up inside the young brunette. The former questions of whether or not Mark Calaway would have been fuming in rage right now had overtime been woefully replaced by solid responses surrounding the dreaded thought that Mark Calaway was most likely mad, and was just as likely not to be at the apartment. It wasn't as though Phil was a pessimist; however the given situation was the sole cause for housing such a negative mindset. It saddened the younger man. He instantly grabbed hold of his lower lip so as to twine away at the loop ring that hung from it. It calmed him slightly in the same way a blanket or toy would to a scared child. /Why should I even bother going back? I had all those chances to do so before today, but after that stunt Adam pulled.../ He trailed and scrapped at his left cheek with stub fingernails, leaving a bright red trail where the fingers had dug. The pain registered a few seconds later alerting him to stop. /Why am I still trying to hope? Mark's angry and he's gone. If I were in his shoes I'd have left too./ He curled his toes unconsciously so as to cling to the carpet below for dear life. /So why am I still afraid to go back?/

Even though his frown was heavy and his inner voice was loud, the factor that served to finally shove some life into Phil's seemingly brain-dead corpse was the sudden feel of slow heavy breaths gently kissing his exposed lower back. Instantly, Phil shot to his feet and turned a full circle. At the sight of a smirking Adam Copeland, Phil's face fell directly into the open arms of a disgusted expression.

"Aww." The older man cooed mockingly, "Why did you move Philly? It's a rarity that I get to wake up to such an intoxicating beauty." His grin grew the harder Phil frowned. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts about leaving me Phil. That just makes me want to gobble you up on spot."

Phil's face fell deadpan. Like a bird in a flying pattern, his tone soon followed suit. "Yeah well, you had your chance a while ago."

He yanked his bag from off the floor, planting it firmly onto the bedside table. The suddenness of the action rattled a few items housed on the wooden table. Phil ignored the noise and hurriedly flung on a T-Shirt. The words CM Punk stretched across the back with a pair of clenched fists with two X's on them sat upright on the front. The acronyms for the words "straight-edge" and "hardcore" lettered in small stars and hung above the CM Punk at the back. The irony of said words stung the young Brooks with the speed of lightning.

The hesitant look in Phil's cerulean eyes caught the inquisitive azures of Adam. "Brings back memories doesn't it Philly?" His voice was low with a hint of sincerity – a trait as normal to Adam as water on the sun.

Phil looked over angrily at the older blond. "Like hell it does!" Upon shutting the metal mouth, Phil took hold of his gym bag with more force than necessary. "I'm going!"

"Wait Phil!" The younger man did – to his disgust and surprise – allowing Adam to sit up on his bed and reveal the fact that he was still very much clad in only a dark pair of boxers. Seeing that Phil had stopped as commanded, Adam let out a long sigh. "You really can stay here you know. It's almost one o' clock, and you don't drive. Just stay here. I promise I won't do anything to you."

The brunette scoffed coldly, "What makes you think for a second that I'd stay here? With _you _of all people?"

"Because by now Calaway must really despise you." The statement knocked all traces of rage-fuelled arrogance off the face of Phillip Brooks stripping him down to a pitiful look of hurt. It brought a small accomplished smile to the lips of Adam Copeland. "You know I'm right Philly. Even if you rush off now, the outcome will still be the same as if you were to stay here overnight. Hell you could just stay here for all eternity and save us both the trouble, and the outcome would still stay the same. Mark's not waiting on you Philly. You wouldn't wait on you and you know it! That old man is probably out there somewhere drinking booze, gambling what's left of his life away and sticking his dick into every -"

Maybe it was the disastrous mix of the lingering stench and Adam's condescending attitude. Maybe it was due to the old saying that 'the truth hurts'. Maybe it was simply that Copeland was right because he was the catalyst that made his words right. All reasons had as much chance as any to explain what took place, however they still all took a back seat to the sole fact that Phillip Brook's body had reacted before his mind could even conjure up a proper motive. His clenched fist – that had been festering while Adam spoke – connected squarely with Adam's jaw. Soon more well made hard rights and lefts continued to hammer away at Adam only to be stopped short once the older blond – bigger and stronger – finally managed to get his wits about him and shoved a crazed Phil away. The older man did not offer Phil even a second to donate to recuperation. Instead he swung his very own hard fist into the younger man's jaw. It successfully knocked Phil down, however the brunette was persistent and refused to stay fallen. He channelled his energy into standing upright almost instantly.

"Don't you dare talk about Mark like that you fucker!" Blinded by rage, Brooks lounged forward once more only to get his hands sealed by a pair of cuffs made entirely out of Adam's flesh. The older man pinned any further advancements. Upon noting that fists were futile, Phil turned to bearing fangs and barking loudly. "Let me go! Don't fucking touch me!"

Using his stored strength, Phil tore away his hands – gently rubbing the wrists – and forcefully calmed himself. It had momentarily slipped his that Adam was the stronger of the two. Resistance was indeed futile. After giving the young brunette time to recollect himself, and ensuring that there would be no further cheap shots delivered, Adam chose to relax his muscles and subsequently his mood. Tension was not something he was fond of once it fell over him.

"The truth hurts. I'm right Phil and you know it." He wiped away the trickle of blood that seeped from his spilt lower lip before sitting back down on the bed. Eyes welded coldly on the younger man. "But I don't get it Phil."

Brooks spoke through clenched teeth. Wasting time with Adam was not on his to-do-list. "What? What don't you get?"

Noting the impatience in Phil's voice, Adam delivered a faint smirk. "You've loved Mark for how long now? Five years?"

"A decade."

"A decade?" His brows rose in faux exclamation. "That's impressive. And you've gotten nowhere with him right?"

"Just shut it Adam. At least I'm not settling for second best like you are." The older blond's air of confidence vanished instantly. "What? You thought I wouldn't figure it out? You've had me tied to you for a week. You could've done anything you wanted, but you didn't. And the only reason you've done so is because you can't drink enough to turn me into Matt. No matter how much I remind you of him."

The older blond tried hard to suppress the incoming frown as he dug for ways to counteract. Not one mode of escape revealed itself. "Fine." He sighed. "I guess it's pretty obvious that I still love Matt. And even though I know it's futile, my feelings probably won't ever change. So I can't rat on you about loving Calaway."

A pleased look of triumph sat kingly on Phil's face. It caused Adam to slip on a quick snarl.

"But even though I'm aiming elsewhere at least I'm trying to move on." He titled his head up slightly. "You're so hung up on Mark you can't even see that there are guys out there who would kill to have you. There are guys out there who love you just as much as you love Mark."

"I'm not blind Adam. I've been around long enough to know the tricks of each and every trade, so I know when someone's hitting on me." He drew in a deep breath exhaling slowly after. "But even though it's very fruitless, I just can't give up on Mark. I can't stop loving him."

"Why?" The older blond cursed himself for the angry outburst, "Calaway has done nothing to earn that, so why? Why are you so willing to go to any lengths to protect him? Are you hoping that if you love him long enough he'll just up and realize and then accept you? Is that what you're hoping for? A happily ever after?"

"I'm not hoping for things like that Adam. We both know there is no such thing as a happy ever after."

"So what then?" By now Adam was standing and approaching Phil with rage spewing forward from every pore. "What are you hoping for Phil? What the hell do you want from Mark that no other guy can give?"

"A kind rejection." The stony expression on Phil's face told Adam that he was dead serious. It silenced the older man momentarily, and served to calm him down. "It's all I want. It's all I've ever hoped that Mark would give. And I'll do anything and everything to secure that."

/He's really serious./ Adam stared a bit wide-eyed at Phil with waves of disbelief crashing down hard on his facial features. /Why would he go so far for.../ As if hit with a meteor originating at high speed from thin air itself, Adam's mind shut off and for a split second Matt Hardy was standing ahead in his room clothed in a dark blue T-Shirt and rugged jeans. It saddened the older blond as he washed over a memory he had hoped was long forgotten. A time before Phillip Brooks. A time before Mark Calaway. A time when nothing in the world could replace Matt Hardy. A time when he too had hoped for a kind rejection.

"Phil..." His voice was low. He slid his eyes down to his lower left. "Get out."

"With pleasure."

On the shaky note, and despite the fact that he had noticed the sudden change in the aura that surrounded the older blond, Phil hastily turned on his heels and left the hotel room. Copeland continued to stare at the floor as though it were a window looking into his past. And he was merely the one cleaning it.

* * *

The vehicle chomped down on asphalt as it sped along on the road. Mark Calaway was known for a lot of things and one of those famed proclamations was his undying ability to attract nightclubs, strip bars and gambling houses. It was a true miracle how the man was able to draw out the places best known to lead to the three deadly addictions – alcohol, gambling, and sex – yet was somehow able to stay out of harm's way countless times. Tonight, however, was the night luck finally ran out for Mark. After betting a random guy that he could out drink ten men and winning, Mark ended up being fed hard rights, steel pipes and brick walls for the majority of the night. Ultimately he won his scuffle with the man, but lost to the remainder of the group who ganged up on him armed and ready. The first thing to go were his already bad knees – that Calaway was now thinking of getting fixed – and then each of the twenty something men took turns whacking metal onto the older brunette's body. Being a fighter, Mark managed to hold his own, but age reminded his cruelly that he was no match for the people of the now.

Having trailed his brother ever since the man disappeared from the gym, Glenn found Mark on the receiving end of torture. Disregarding all and letting rage be his fuel, he jumped in, teamed with Mark and taught all twenty-something men that experience outweighed numbers by far. After getting Mark's wounds – that were all relatively shallow – treated, the two jumped into Glenn's car, turned around and headed back to the city as the older man had somehow ended up on the state outskirts. As the SUV ate asphalt, and the radio mumbled along in the background, Calaway decided it was time to add some sound to the dead scene.

"So, where're we going exactly?"

"To my hotel."

The older man scoffed dryly. "Save the gas. Just leave me at Phil's."

"And have you walk into yet _another_ one of his antics with Edge?" Glenn snapped viciously as he clutched the wheel of the SUV tightly. "No way in hell Mark! You're coming with me."

"Like hell I am." The older man slid heavy jades – one donning a small scratch at the brow – over to his brother. "I have his key. If he's there I have to -"

"If he's there?" Glenn swung an angry glance over to Mark. "Are you hearing yourself Mark? You sound like you actually hope he's coming back! What's the matter with you?"

"I'm going back Glenn. It's the only place I can go back to."

"No!" He swung the vehicle around a sharp right corner. "You can come stay with me and you know it!"

"You live in a single bed hotel room." His tone quickly dried, "The days of you and I sleeping on the same mattress are all long gone and dead Glenn. We're grown men. We shouldn't be sharing a bed."

"Matt shares his bed with Jeff. And they're brothers just like us."

"Yeah well they're also in a relationship." He drawled sloppily giving a soft sigh as he turned to eye the road ahead. "Just leave me nearby then. I'll walk it to his place."

After giving his brother one last look in order to confirm the seriousness in the older man's tone that he had heard prior to, Glenn threw the SUV to a nearby outdoor parking lot, stomped harshly on the brakes bringing the two ton vehicle to an immediate halt and yanked the key out right after to shut the engine off. The force of the sudden stop threw both brothers forward, however the seat belt strapped across them forcefully welded them to their bucket seats. Mark looked over nonchalantly at his brother a bit caught off guard when he found the younger man turned in his seat, glaring at him and puffing steam.

"What the hell's wrong with you Mark?"

The older man raised an eyebrow confused, "I'm beaten, and tired and I just want to go home."

"Home? You mean to Phil's apartment?"

"Yeah. Home. Phil's apartment." Mark looked out the window attached to the door beside him. "How far is the apartment from here anyways?"

The loud bang that sounded from Glenn throwing a hard fist into the dashboard, alerted Mark to the fact that the younger man was still very much angry. Had that not been enough, the deep frown that nearly spilt his entire forehead into two separate hemispheres, and the fact that he was almost visibly engulfed in the flames of rage notified Mark to sharpen his attitude and be mindful about his choice of words. /I better not get him any madder. I can't take another beating./

"Look," He held out his palms in an attempt to pacify. His dry tone betrayed the intention. "I hate Edge just as much as you do. I mean he set you up and almost cost you your career, so by all rights you should hate to see him happy. I do too. But the fact is he's happy with Phil. And there's nothing I can do but wish them luck."

"Cut the bull Mark." His blatant tone was a shocker for Calaway – he had been expecting an angry outburst. "A blind man could see that you're hurting right now. Heck you cross country it to the edge of the city, gamble with some mafia guys, and then promptly get the shit beat out of you. You barely fought back in case you forgot!"

"The gym's a tiresome place. Besides, I was heavily outnumbered and slightly drunk."

"You never get drunk!" He roared. "And what's with the heavily outnumbered crap? You're Mark Calaway! Numbers mean nothing but an increase in body count to you!" A heavy sigh escaped Glenn almost instantly. "Look Mark, I'm too old to deal with this stealth behaviour of yours, so just tell me the truth. Do you, or do you not love Phillip Brooks?"

"Is this a wedding?"

"Answer the damn question or I'll finish what those guys started!" He roared violently.

Pride was one thing Mark Calaway held closer in his heart than blood itself. For that sole reason, Calaway often tried to overtake every confrontation once he realized that he would end up being either proven wrong, or bombarded with an obvious fact that he did not want to delve into. It was due to this high pride that Mark sought a way to evade Glenn's probing ability. However, noting the plain fact that Jacobs was far from ready to accept any low ball answer, or something of a sugar-coated response, Mark decided to go down an opposite route. He decided to rest down the shackles of pride and accept defeat. After taking the few seconds to reconsider his next move, Mark readily went along with Glenn's demands. The moment the decision was passed, his air of nonchalance vanished leaving room for a deep rooted sorrow that caved him.

"Do you..." He paused momentarily to draw in a deep breath, "Do you remember what BJ always used to say to me?"

Glenn remained silent. It wasn't as if he had no clue as to what his brother was referring to, it was just that the question was a rhetoric one thus rendering a response unnecessary.

Mark continued dryly. Eyes bowed somewhat. "He said my life was like a bubble. He repeated it almost every day like a Buddhist chant and even said it the night I got up and left him. Ever since then, I've always thought he was delusional. I mean if a bubble refers to a comfort zone, then my life was far from it and out of all the people in the world, he should have known that. He should have known that when it came to my life, I wasn't comfortable at all. I have problems. I have demons. I have every flaw a human could have and then some. You know almost all of them. And the sad part is that I was content with living with that knowledge for the rest of my life." Mark sighed heavily. "Then you know the story from there." Glenn gave a quick nod. "I was on a downward spiral Glenn. I had nowhere to go, and I didn't want to keep relying on you for every little thing." He smiled vaguely, "Big brothers are supposed to take care of their siblings after all right." The poorly practiced smile vanished like dust in a storm. "But then, Phil came along and gave me someplace I could always go back to without any sort of obligation behind the gesture. Because of that, I think you could say a few weights came off. He walks in my stride. He follows my rules even if he's got a set of his own. He puts up with my crap. He even eats my sloppy cooking for crying out loud!"

Glenn cringed visibly at the thought. It was no secret that the art of cooking was never invented with Mark Calaway in mind.

"Point is, Phil makes it easy for me to just be myself. I don't have to hide behind a facade or something." The older man continued on, "Whenever I'm around Phil I'm comfortable, so then in a way that makes him my bubble." His jades shied away under the coat of heavy lids. "And right now, that bubble just burst. So yeah, I guess you could say I'm hurting really badly. I guess you could even go out on a limb and say that the reason I care so damn much about his well-being and why I can step away from a confrontation with Edge is all because deep down I really do love him."

"So... do you?" Glenn's voice cut in softly yet sharply. When Mark exercised silence, Glenn continued to dig, "I won't hold it against you Mark. It's only natural that you'd fall for a guy like him. I mean how long was BJ going to be your first and last right?"

"It's not like I just fell for him all of a sudden Glenn." The response forced Jacobs to raise an eyebrow. "I feel like I've been in love with him before. Like maybe a few months ago. Maybe even years. And all that's happened now is that those forgotten feelings are just being rekindled."

"Rekindled?" The younger man reached for a grasp on the fabric of reality. /Don't tell me he actually liked him back then?/ "Mark, I want to be happy for you," /Don't tell me that's why he was.../ "but you have a policy I promised I'd never let you break." /Five fucking years of secrecy could have all been avoided if Phil hadn't jumped the gun! I don't believe this!/

"The policy." He spoke more to himself than to the younger man, "I made it to make amends, but you always said I had to move on Glenn." The older man raised his head to rest his eyes on a now distraught Glenn Jacobs. "And now I'm willing to put it aside and do just that. If for nothing else, I'll do it for -"

"For what? A night with Phil?" A little voice inside was screaming 'stop' but Glenn's mind was on a rampage.

Not noticing the fact that his brother was genuinely burning with a frenzy of mixed emotions, Mark gave a small smirk topped with a deep-throat chuckle. His tone heavily sarcastic. "I guess if things progress and Edge vanishes then it's not such a bad idea."

"How can you be so fucking clueless?" The voice grew a bit louder, but still not enough for Glenn to stop his rant. "At least think about who it was you made that promise to Mark!"

His brother's rage reached sending warning signals to Mark who aimed to pacify. "I have Glenn. But -"

"But nothing! Phil's not worth it! Damn it, a promise is a promise Mark it's not something you can just break on a whim! Especially one you've made to someone like BJ! "

"Don't you think I know that?" It was Mark's turn to derail onto the track of angry ranting. "I was his best friend for years! I was the one who changed him! And I was the one who led him to his fucking grave." His demeanor darkened instantly, " So don't you dare make it look like I haven't thought about him when for almost twenty years he's been all I could think about!" He drew back on his anger as his knuckles ate away at the fleshy blanket above having been clutching the dashboard tightly for too long. A deep, calming breath escaped his lungs with force. "I'm not saying that I'm entitled to any rights Glenn. In fact I should live alone forever and just die a lonely death. I don't deserve to be happy. " His jades strummed on pity as they burned deep into the ice blues of Glenn Jacobs. "Those were the notions I used to be content with."

For Jacobs, silence had been mailed to him at the moment, as in his forty plus years of life on Earth, this was truly the first time he had heard his older brother spew such words of regret, guilt and sorrow. It was fascinating for Glenn to watch in astonishment as his brother spoke in a language that the brunette was not known to use. However, the feeling of amazement was instantly razed by a deep wounded sadness. It broke Glenn's heart to hear Calaway sound so contemptible.

"But living with Phil has changed that." The cut-dry tone of voice sliced through into Glenn's mind wrenching him from all would-be thoughts. "I don't want to die a lonely death anymore. I don't want to live as a lonely man anymore. I don't want to be alone _ever_. I can put on the look that it's all okay –you know I can –but I'm dying Glenn. I'm so sick and tired of walking down this same endless road when I all I really want is what you, or Edge or even BJ wants. I just want to be happy."

Glenn sat back slowly as his mind worked over the sincere look planted blatantly on his brother's face. /Damn you Phil. This is the second time Mark's had to break that policy./ "So you think Phil's your happiness?"

"Yeah."

"You do realize that you know nothing about the guy right? I mean you know he might just be putting on a show for you, only to reveal that he's not what he seems to be at all...right?"

"Well..." Mark paused to recollect. "That'd just make two of us now wouldn't it?"

Once more Glenn gave a hard look of suspicion before caving in. "Fine." /You better be worth it Brooks or so help me./ He looked away and turned the key. The SUV started instantly. "I'll leave you at Phil's apartment."

* * *

Having left Adam's apartment, Phil was offered a ride by surprisingly none other than Matt Hardy. The man had been heading out of the building when he spotted a slow-moving Phillip Brooks. The older brunette drove up beside Phil, turned down his shaded window and gave the saddened man a side-smile.

"You look like crap." Phil simply blinked in response. "Get in."

Not entirely sure of where this was going, but having no other options open to him at the moment, Phil opened the car door and sat inside beside Matt. The older man turned the wheel skilfully, and sped along down the road. Phil turned to look out the now closed window watching intently as the lights of passing cars, streetlamps, and buildings flashed by in a blurred frenzy. The distant look in his cerulean eyes reflected heavily in the dark car window and from his numerous glances, Matt easily picked it up.

"So, what's wrong?"Phil remained silent simply due to the fact that he had nothing to say. Matt looked back at the road after throwing Phil a long glance. "Unlike you Phil, I don't make it a habit to pick up strays. And when I do, I expect them to cooperate with me, because they should know that had I not picked them up then they'd have been left for dead." When Phil continued to exercise his right to remain silent, Matt dropped the metaphoric act for a more to-the-point performance. "I know Mark's your stray and not your roommate."

/He what?/ Phil looked over at Matt, only to turn his eyes back to the window. /Calm down. He's just spewing hot air./ He let out a long sigh. "And what makes you think that?"

"I didn't think anything Phil. I told you I know. I know because you hate dogs."

The dry scoff that came out of Phil's mouth was unintentional but fit perfectly and somehow served to lighten the mood. /Well that was obvious enough./ "Thanks for not telling Jeff."

"He wouldn't understand anyways." Matt looked back at Phil once the car hit a red light. "So I'll ask again. What's wrong?"

Phil's eyes curtained. His reflection mirrored the act and broadcasted it to an on-looking Matt Hardy. "I've hit rock bottom Matt."

"That wouldn't be the first time. You've hit it before, and yet here you are."

"Yeah." His tone dried. "Right back where I started." Another lonely sigh escaped the younger man. "I took Mark in so that I could be the one to tell him about what happened...you know...between us." The car pressed forward once the light finally changed. Matt paid his attention to the road, but his ears stuck on Phil's shaky voice. "After all, he deserves to know right. So when he came to me looking for a place to stay I couldn't refuse."

"So why the pet thing?"Phil looked over frantically at Matt. Hardy glanced at him and smirked at the road. "I told you I know. And I won't tell Jeff or anyone else anything. It's not something that needs to be spread around. But _I_ want to know why. I mean you're not the kind of person to go and own people like that."

"It wasn't so that I could own him." His eyes fell to his gym bag seated on his lap. "It was a failsafe method to keep him with me and give us some sort of confidant relationship. Pets are like diaries right, so I thought that if I had him as mine then I could easily tell him all that happened and he'd be a bit more forgiving."

"That's certainly a weird thought." Matt shrugged nonchalantly. "But go on."

"It was working. I told him about my Dad and then he told me about his. After that we set up a trade and I even got a deal for goodbye kisses in there."

"Wow." Matt raised his eyebrows dramatically as he steered the vehicle. "I should try that with Jeff."

"Yeah." Phil turned to look out the window once more finding comfort and some form of support from watching the lights outside zoom by. "But now it's all screwed up. I went and chickened out because I didn't want to ruin the castle we started building on lies. I had lost sight of what it was I had wanted to do in the first place, and when that sight came back to me, I ended up here."

"Here?"

"At rock bottom." He inhaled deeply. "And it looks like this is where I'm destined to stay. I don't deserve Mark or his forgiveness. I had so many chances to say something, to apologize for what I did. I should have just said something sooner." He clenched his jaw tightly. "Hell, I should have never picked him up in the first place."

Phillip Brooks was a lot of things and it was mostly dependent on what facade he chose to model and who he chose to model it to. To Matt Hardy, Phillip Brooks was the man responsible for keeping Jeff alive when the younger man had ran away from home for two whole months. It was thanks to Phil that Jeff made it back alive. However, the respect such a chivalrous act should have garnered did not as Phil portrayed himself shortly after in a very different light than the one that enshrouded the man the day he handed a then sleeping Jeff to Matt. In that regard, nothing could truthfully be said about Phillip Brooks as the man had too many faces to pinpoint which were his and which were not. Conversely, through the dark brown eyes of Matt Hardy, the Phillip Brooks that sat in his car staring intently out the window with eyes brimming with sorrow was indeed the real Phillip Brooks. The younger man was no superhero. He wasn't a villain either. He was simply just human. And it appalled Matt how that was the last thing many – himself included – seemed to realize.

/I picked up one for the books alright./ Matt steered the car bringing it to a parallel halt in front of a large building. He looked over at Phil who was gearing to leave. "Phil." His quiet call stopped Phil's movements and garnered the younger brunette's full attention. "I once had a pet. He was a black and white cat named Rocky. I gave him the name based on Rocky Balboa of course and it was to signal his immortality. But then just twelve months later, he died."

"Oh...I'm sorry to hear that Matt."

"Don't sweat it." He turned in his seat to drop a serious expression on Phil. "For me I had forgotten that Rocky was just a cat. He could get sick like every other cat and he could die like every other cat. Point is, Phil, don't ever think you're something else because when it comes down to it, you're really not so different. You'll get sick. You'll feel pain. You'll fall in love. Just like everyone. And life's too short to go living in the past. " Mocha eyes curtained slightly with a hint of sympathy passing over them. "Now I may not know much about Calaway, but I'm sure he's feels like the luckiest stray to have an owner like you."

"I don't believe in luck remember?"

"I didn't say _you_ felt lucky." The older chuckled a bit. "Fine. He feels like the _bestest_ stray out there."

Phil conjured up a shy smile. It was not as though he had ever questioned Matt's humanity, or the if he had a heart at all, however the thought that maybe he was one of the rare breeds born to be cold and void of emotions had crossed his mind on countless occasions. After hearing what the man had to say, Brooks came to the realization that he had Matt penned up all wrong. /I can see why Jeff likes him./

"Well, thanks for the drive Matt. I really appreciate it." Phil opened the door and exited the car.

"Sure." The older Hardy waved at Phil as the door shut.

Brooks watched as the older man drove away before turning to enter the apartment building. He reached the elevator with thoughts of his conversation with Matt Hardy swimming through his mind. However once the metal box closed and moved upwards, Phil's heart sank once more at the realization that despite having talked to Matt, his problems with Mark were still very much there. /Maybe he is still here./ The tinge of optimism amidst the sea of pessimistic waters was a quick relief for the tormented mind of Phillip Brooks. Guilt and all the other feelings that synonymised the word clouded his mind and effectively cut off the oxygen to his hopeful train of thought. /Just stop it! You have to apologize and you have to just tell him everything! He has to know./ Phil straightened his shoulders and stance, and lifted his head to look at the door ahead. /If he's not here, look for him tomorrow and then apologize. It's not like I have anything to lose right?/ He blocked out the obvious answer for fear of falling right back into the depression he had finally been able to somehow clamber out of.

The metal doors opened to reveal the hallway he was all too familiar with. The slightly stale scent, mixed with a mucky aroma welcomed him in their warm embrace. It wasn't until he took a glance down that he stopped short in his tracks. The dark green of the hall carpet reminded him plainly of Mark's eyes. A scene played in his head. It had Mark angry and confused. It had him pleading and apologizing. And in the end, Mark vanished only to have Edge come into the picture. It was not until his shoulder began to cramp under the immense weight of the large gym bag did Phil snap out of his nightmare daze. He gave himself a mental slap and continued on to his door.

Had it not been for the hinge joint in his jaw that was held ever so nicely in place by a string of ligaments, Phil knew for certain that his lower jaw would have slipped out of place and hit the ground after what his eyes had laid on. The door was slightly cracked open, and there was a light inside. /He's...here?/ Not wanting to waste one more second to irrelevant thought, Phil pushed open the door – causing it to slam into the wall behind – threw the heavy gym bag a few meters inside and stormed into the apartment. In all his frantic behavior to gun for the bedroom he missed the fact that Mark was sitting upright and watching his antics from the comfort of the couch. The older brunette calmly got to his feet and sauntered over to the open front door. It was after it had locked shut that Phil spotted Mark. /He's here!/ The happy feeling was short-lived as no sooner had Phil reached a point of over-joy did his mind start to dribble questions. Unconsciously, they leaked out.

"Why are you here?" /What am I saying? Apologize you idiot! Stick to the damn plan!/

Phil watched in shock as Mark turned to face him. Apparently his brain was on auto pilot as not only was his control of speech completely gone, but his limb movements seemed to have a mind of their own at the moment as he walked over stiffly to Mark. Once he was only an arm's length away from the older man, Phil finally found the will to stop moving.

"Why didn't you leave?" Calaway stared in silence as his now shadowed jades raked over Phil's confused look. "Why did you wait here for me?"

"I have nowhere else to go. And besides," His voice mirrored the dark expression, "what would you do in my position?"

"I would have left!" For no reason at all Phil was getting angry. Mark's presence proved his worst thoughts wrong. It proved Adam wrong. And it made Phil extremely happy. "I wouldn't have trusted the man who walked out and didn't even have the courtesy to call or visit or anything! I would've been mad right now after being treated so poorly when I know I didn't do anything wrong!" He was happy, but had trouble showing it. /Just apologize already!/ Once more the delicate connection between his brain and his voice severed. "You shouldn't have left the door open for me! You shouldn't be here Mark!" /I'm so glad you're here! I'm so glad you didn't leave me!/ His brain cried out but his voice had other plans. "You shouldn't have come back!"

In less than an instant, Phil's arms were wrapped tightly around the board waist of Mark Calaway. He drew the older man to him as he buried his face in Calaway's chest. Every odor receptor danced happily as they instantly picked up the trademark scent that encased Mark. It suddenly broke Phil down forcing the man into a fit of tears. Even though it had only been seven days, at the current moment Phil felt as though he had not seen Mark in over a century. The action startled and confused Mark a bit, but he simply dropped curtained jades onto the walls ahead, and allowed Phil to continue.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" The severed connection was finally repaired and once again Phil's mind had total control. "I'm sorry I said all those horrible things when I left! I'm sorry I didn't call you! I'm sorry I made you worry!" He paused to let out the impending sob that hitched his breathing rhythm. "I'm sorry a-about what you saw with Edge! I-I -"

"What I saw was none of my business Phil." Mark's dry tone was extremely welcoming, and it coaxed Phil a bit. His eyes slid down to gaze over the top of Phil's disheveled ebony locks. "And like I said before, you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

When Phil clung tighter instead of possibly responding, Mark dropped the serious act as the heavy metal armor encasing him instantly rusted away. It surprised the older man that Phil had come back, and if there were any words that held more intensity to the word 'happy' they would have been used to describe Mark's current feeling. The compassionate look embedded deep in his jades drove into their target and held the hope that Phil would be able to stop crying and tell him everything right then and there. However, contrary to the younger brunette, Mark's mind was in full control and so he did not go off and voice his wishes. Instead, he warmed to feel of having Phil cling to him as if his life depended on it before finally giving the man a return squeeze of the shoulders as he wrapped a comforting tattooed arm around him. It served its dual purpose of not only calming both the mindset of Phil and Mark, but also allowing the latter man to silently think of what it was he would say at a time long after this. It was that small thought that marked the first form of fantasy to ever embark on the mind of Mark Calaway.

"I think this is a curse." He stated dryly.

Phil – who had managed to finally somehow calm down – looked up sheepishly at Mark. Surprise hit his cerulean eyes once they landed on the small smile that had attached itself to Mark's lips and the overall gentleness of the older man's expression. It heavily contrasted with the look of disdain his fragile mind had conjured up from thin air.

"Every time I hold you, you start to cry. Not to mention that this mood feels strangely familiar." A small scoff escaped Mark's throat. "There must be something wrong with me."

Phil did nothing more than shake his head in response. To him, after all, Mark Calaway was perfect.


	11. 21 On The Inside Bet

**HERE WE GO! I'M BBBBAAAAAACCCCCKKKKKKKK! XD XD **

**Okay...enjoy the story. **

* * *

Be it a proud showcase of ego or just the mere – and somewhat highly unlikely – fact that the colour red appealed more to him than blue ever could, Vince McMahon made RAW his flagship show. By doing so not only did he give RAW the upper hand of having more airtime and being broadcast live, but it also labeled the superstars on the roster as being more superior than their Smack Down counterparts. The latter was most certainly a debatable comment; however the initial was the biggest thorn in Smack Down's side. Being pre-taped was a fact that made the blue show highly predictable as people were able to just Google the results before the actual TV showing. Such an angled disposition should have been the death of Smack Down; however they held enough winning cards that allowed them to stay in the game and even at some points bet higher. One card was labeled with the fact that – despite appearances – Smack Down superstars were given a lot more time to train than their RAW friends. However, judging by appearances it was easy to spot which superstar on the blue show spent more time running personal "errands" and less time lifting weights.

Such was the fault of Adam Copeland. The blond haired, blue-eyed "hate-me-because-you-love-me" superstar was an advocate of wasting time on the hours dedicated to training. In all fairness, Copeland trained just as hard as the next guy. If a guy put twenty hours a week into training, then Adam would match that exact number by the end of three weeks. It was this kind of attitude that baffled most other superstars as Copeland was as – if not more than – capable when it came to performing at his best and juggling the other aspects that made up the WWE, when in all truth the older man should have been rendered useless once work called.

In the short time he did dedicate to training, Adam did up to triple of what his co-workers did in their sessions. It was more an act of cocky optimism rather than an act of arrogance, as the blond man would often set his goals to higher than impossible and stay good-spirited enough to achieve them. However, to say that he liked doing so was equivalent to saying that ants loved rain. And aside from himself, the only other person who was well aware of that fact was approaching him for the first time in countless years.

"Don't scowl so hard Copeland." An accented voice chimed into the low music that emitted from Adam's I-Pod. It garnered the man's full attention. "You'll just make yourself look worse."

Using his arms, the older blond placed the large weighty iron bar down and eased cautiously into a seated position that allowed him to see the brunette in full view. He slid on a small smile onto the lower half of his face, while taking out the ear buds welded deep inside his ear canal.

"You really know how to hurt a guy." Blue eyes captured the dark browns that stared back. "Don't you Matt?"

Unbeknown to a large number of people, at one time in his life, Adam Copeland was madly in love with Matt Hardy. And an even less number of people knew that the man was still very much in love with the older Hardy. Back then, for Adam, it was a love at first sight scenario that planted the seed of infatuation in a deep, inaccessible part of his heart. Such a vicious attack of infatuation filled the man with an insatiable need to take the brunette who had been clinging onto his chastity in the name of his brother, Jeff. Overtime Adam became overcome by the barrage of feelings he felt the moment Matt Hardy crossed his mind, and soon it led to the construction of an intricate – and overly detailed – web of lies, and deceit. The abominable construction imploded much like a Hydrogen bomb and created a series of damages ten times that. The conclusion did not meet any of Adam's hopes as his plans ended with a truck load of everyone's hatred and eventually resulted in Matt having to be the one to ultimately cut all ties with him the only way he knew how: quickly, straightforwardly, and with an air of icy cold.

"That's an unkind thing to say." The thick accent lit up Adam for a moment and soon the man had to catch himself from disregarding the harsh words spoken in such a seductive enunciation. "Especially since it's coming from _you_." Hardy's smirk dwindled as his brown eyes wondered over to the I-Pod that rested on Copeland's left thigh. "What are you listening to?"

Copeland glanced at the blank screen of his MP3 player. "A beautiful combination of words, vocals, and instruments." He threw a confident look towards Matt. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your audience?"

Matt scoffed to himself before setting up for a reply. "Last night I picked up a stray that was leaving the Smack Down hotel." He lifted his chin slightly upwards to drop his eyes stoically onto Adam. "He doesn't have many friends as we both know, and he didn't come to see the one friend he's got so I figured the only other person he'd come to see would be you." Copeland's expression lacked any hint of intrigue or a need to pry. It forced Matt to take hold of his famous straight-forward, tell-them-like-it-is attitude. "Just what kind of web did you tangle Phil in?"

His trademark smirk sat kingly on his face. To all regards, Adam had felt a slight tinge of hope spark in the core of his being when he sat up to see Matt standing ahead of and smiling at him. And he was cursing himself for doing so.

"That's a pretty bold declaration Matt." He flexed his neck muscles garnering a small cracking sound out of the right side. "What makes you think I've done anything to Phil?"

"Because it's what you're good at Adam. Wrecking the lives of happy people."

A cruel chuckle left the lower levels of Adam's throat. "Happy people huh? Phil doesn't fall into that category, I assure you. The man could even out-sorrow a Goth with the kind of life he's had to live." Copeland sighed slightly to dissipate the false friendly mood and let in an air of seriousness. "So really, am I wrecking a happy life or just making one a bit more interesting?" He tilted his head slightly down to the right. Steely blue eyes stared directly onto a listening Matt Hardy. "I haven't done anything illegal, if that's what you've tried to imply over there, and you have my word that it's all consensual. Phil and I have, what you like to call, a business relationship."

"It didn't seem like that when I carried him home last night."

The older man raised his eyebrows in phony disbelief. "Really? In that case, please tell me what it seemed like to you, oh Almighty one. Enlighten me on your views of wisdom."

Matt opened his mouth to sharply reply, but drew back and chuckled to himself. "You are one sly bastard."

Adam blinked in comprehension. "What was that? I couldn't hear you with this chunk of 'mind-your-own-business' stuck in my ears." He looked up eagerly at the younger man. "Please, repeat yourself. I think my ears are actually up to listening to you this time."

The brunette slowly shook his head. "Unbelievable." A strained grin slipped onto the lower half of his face. "After all these years, you're still the asshole I despise."

"Well, considering that you've never fucked me before, you don't have the right to judge." He stood to his feet to be on eye level with Matt's now biting glare. "However, tell you what. In the name of the good old days, I'll make you a deal. I tell you what Phil and I are up to and if you don't like it then I promise you, I'll stop."

He folded his large arms across his chest. "What's the payment?"

"The address of Phil's apartment."He grinned widely. "Pretty good deal don't you think?"

Matt gave a short, cruel laugh. "Why would I tell you something that obviously Phil might not want you to know?"

"Ah but that's the beauty of it my friend." Adam theatrically stalked around an anchored Matt in a three sixty fashion. "Whereas I don't _really_ need the address, I can tell that you're _really_ worried about Phil, and it's only natural that you'd want me to stop whatever it is I'm doing to hurt him." He peered at Matt from over the man's exposed shoulder. "So giving me something I don't _really_ need for something that you _really_ want isn't such a bad trade after all, now is it?"

Matt thought for a second – brows creasing slightly to showcase where his mind had now gone to. "Fine." Adam smiled greedily. Matt flicked his harsh mocha eyes over his shoulder and onto Copeland. "But you go first."

* * *

In a need to uphold all that was fair and just, Phillip Brooks was quite possibly more of an anti-gym person than the famed Mark Calaway. The dark-haired man, in all truth, saw the necessity of these training sessions, but having that knowledge did not make him anymore willing to like them or want to participate in them. Being a full-time lover of kickboxing, Phil would often blow at least seven out of the eight hours dedicated to his training, practicing his move-set on the large hanging sandbag on the upper level of the gym. While it was a complete nuisance to his trainers, Phil's sore addiction was a major help to anyone who faced the potential horror of searching the massive gym for him.

Such was the case of one Jeff Hardy.

The older blond (hair color depended on occasion) loved to train, but hated the almost ever-present times that he had to break away and look for someone. Having been accompanied by his older brother Matt only to be dumped just a few minutes later; Jeff was beginning to feel the effects of loneliness. Training –much like everything else in his life – was no fun for the younger Hardy when he had to go it alone. Hence, his need to leave his training quarters to start searching for a training buddy soon overcame his desire to actually finish his trainer's to-do list.

As if fitted with a homing device, Jeff was able to easily and quickly locate his friend, subsequently quenching his thirst for company. The younger brunette was slamming his legs into the hanging sandbag in a sort of repetitive yet practiced motion. Watching his brother Matt train was fun because it was more like a hangout session than a training session. However, watching Phil train himself, with a look of fierce determination hardened onto his facial features, gave Jeff cold chills as the situation branded him the same way it did the first time he met a then younger Brooks. It was a brand that etched a feeling that he was simply a stranger looking into the life of Phillip Brooks, or even an eager fan watching his hero with the knowledge that he was far out of his reach. Either way, it was times like this that made anyone watching through Jeff's eyes realize that for every bit of simple that Phil was, there was an equal amount of complexity that overshadowed it.

After much consideration, Jeff swallowed his thoughts, and walked over to the younger brunette with a giddy smile on his face. "Phil." Brooks continued to slam hard kicks into the sandbag's now dented side. "Hey! Phil!" His tone grew more uncertain the longer Phil remained silent. "Phil!"

The brunette recalled a kick and looked at the person standing behind the sandbag. "Jeff! Hey -" He yanked out his headphones upon realizing just how loud he probably was. "Hey. Hey man what's up?"

"Ah... nothing much. I'm just... you know..." Hardy walked over to the nearby weight bench taking a seat on the edge of the padded seat. His blue eyes rested kindly on a towering Phil. "I'm sort of bored, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind hanging out with me."

What started as a small laugh quickly evolved into a long fit of laughter. "Let me guess" Brooks sat beside Jeff "Matt's left you."

"_Actually_..." He drawled on the word. "Well if you want to put it _that _way..." He swung a nervous glance to Phil before slamming his eyes to the ground. "Okay. He left to go talk to Adam about something 'private'" He mockingly stressed on the last word before looking to Phil. "What could he possibly have to say to Adam after all that's happened between them?"

Phil gave a small shrug to respond.

Jeff looked away offering Phil a moment to think. One thought was currently – and wickedly – poisoning his mind. Last night was no dream. After coming back to his apartment, having been gone for a week, Phil was more than just shocked that Mark had been waiting there for him. It wasn't something he would have done had the situation reversed and it wasn't something he had expected Mark Calaway to do. The same Mark Calaway who was famous for having low – if so much – tolerance towards anything that caused him to escape his comfort zone. Having now seen the kind of person that Mark Calaway was, Phil decided then and there to seize the seemingly perfect moment and tell the older man all of what he had intended to. However, the moment vanished soon after and reality shattered what could in no other way be described as a dream. For some unknown reason, Mark chose to step away from the situation by dismissing it and heading to his room, leaving a confused and ruffled Phil to swallow the words he wanted to say.

/Damn it! Why did he have to be sleepy just then?/ Phil questioned the floor ahead. /The second I open my mouth, he just walks off./ Saddened cerulean eyes skated subtly across the floor. /And then this morning he doesn't talk to me./ The hardwood looked up dryly through varnished bamboo eyes watching as Phil gently swept the base of his thumb over his lower lip. /Is he avoiding me now? Is that the consequence of my actions?/ After convincing himself otherwise, he slid his eyes over to Jeff momentarily as if observing the man for study. /Maybe it's time I talked to him./

"Uh...Jeff?" /Maybe I should start from the beginning./ Nerves frayed at his tone as the older blond turned to him. "I, uh...Do you remember that party you held a few years back. T-The one to celebrate your first title win."

Jeff thought for a second before giving Phil a large smile. "Yeah. I do." He chuckled a bit. "Adam tired to set up Glenn and me to get Matty angry." Not a second flew by before Jeff's eyes lit up. "Maybe that's what he's gone to talk to Adam about." He stood to his feet immediately, startling a now dumbfounded Phillip Brooks.

"Wait. Wait." Phil frowned a bit in confusion. "What are you-"

"Adam had suggested that he get into the feud you and I have going, and Matt must have found out about that and..." He stared at Phil egging the man to finish the sentence.

Unsure, Phil scrambled for some form of response. "Uh...and now he's gone to tell him not to?"

"Exactly!" An accomplished look sat on Jeff's face. "We could be detectives you know. We could even have our own show. Like a Punk and Hardy or Hadunk or Pardy type of show. " Jeff nodded to no one in particular. "We could even have Matt as the grumpy boss. It'd be fun."

"Uh huh." Phil responded distantly. /He's such an idiot. How the hell did the conversation go back to Matt?/ He sighed softly. /Why do the best moments always pass me by so easily?/

Noting that his friend had taken a sudden turn onto the road of subtle disheartened feelings, Jeff quickly dug into his back pocket to pull out a small wrapped gift. He placed it onto Phil's lap

bringing the man's attention out of his thoughts and into the reality that was the gym and the gift.

"A gift?" The brunette eyed the object before taking it up in his hands to spin it at every angle. He looked up at Jeff. "It's not my birthday you know."

"I know." Jeff stated pointedly. "But I figured that today should be Tazz's birthday." Phil gave him a deep look of question. "He's a stray, so we don't really know what his birthday is, so I figured we could just give him one. And I chose today."

Phil thought momentarily. His confused look was still sewn deep into the seams of his face. "Why today?"

Jeff shrugged imperturbably. "Just because." He prepped a large smile as he reclaimed his seat. "Go ahead and open it."

Cerulean eyes glanced down on the small gift. He studied it, with the focus of an archaeologist as his fingers gently pressed down to hold it a bit tighter. "Um..." He looked over to Jeff. "Shouldn't I be opening this with Tazz?"

"It doesn't matter. Just open it." Jeff whined. "Come on."

Phil coughed up a weary smile before turning his attention back to the present. The first tear was done meticulously as if holding onto some hope of saving the pink, flowery wrapper. After glancing at his friend for possible approval – and getting an expression mirroring that of a child on Christmas morning – Phil discarded the saving need and beastly tore away the rest of the packaging. /What is this?/ His jaw was hanging open as he stared at the small roll of leather and sterling studs that protruded from the black surface. Encased in blatant shock, Phil gingerly picked up the item causing it to unroll to a full – but short – length. A small sterling silver dog bone shook as it swung suspended from the center of the measured piece of leather. The brunette almost toppled off his seat once he saw the name etched into the bone's shiny surface. /Tazzy?/

He looked over to Phil with his mouth still slightly open. Cerulean eyes wide as saucers tried to communicate telepathically with the older blonde, but when Jeff simply looked on in silent anticipation, Phil turned to using his vocal cords. "What is this?" It shocked him somewhat that his sentence flowed out with such ease.

"It's a dog collar." He snatched the leather contrivance from Phil and placed it around his own neck. "See? It goes around his neck like this."

For a second – as it really couldn't be helped at the moment – Phil pictured Mark straddled in the leather studded collar, before ridding his mind of such atrocities once he felt the effects of embarrassment cave down on him. "Why does it have _Tazzy_ written on it?"

Jeff took off the collar and stared at the silver bone hanging off the leather section. "Oh." A juvenile smile encompassed his lips. "I got carried away. It's a cute nickname right?"

Phil felt the need to answer thus continuing on this strange route however a sudden sting of guilt hit him just seconds before the words formed in his mind. He stared sadly at the collar in Jeff's clutches. /I may as well tell him./ "Jeff...um...this is a great gift and all, but um...I think you should know that -"

"Black's not his color?" Jeff proclaimed slicing through Phil's sentence and subsequently derailing the younger man's train of thought. His smile dropped."I knew I should have gotten the red one."

Phil frowned slightly. "No. This isn't about the color of the...collar, but -"

"Pink." Once more Phil's mind ground to a halt so as to comprehend what it was that his friend was suddenly talking about. "I saw a pink one and it even had sparkles. Matt said no to it, but maybe that would have been a better on to choose." A tinge of disappointment laced his tone."Yeah. This one just lacks that pizazz, you know. It doesn't have that wow factor."

/What?/ Phil closed his eyes momentarily to regain his thoughts. He reopened them once the train returned to the station. "Look," He grabbed the collar from Jeff "this isn't what I want to...I just..." He stopped and inhaled deeply. "Okay. I have something I have to tell you Jeff, and I'd really appreciate it if you just listened. Can you do that?"

Jeff nodded childishly. Phil took it as an incentive to continue on.

"As you already know Mark's been living with me."

"Mark's still living with you?" Phil nodded a bit uncertainly. Jeff's eyebrows rose dramatically. "That's impressive."

Once more Phil lost track of his thoughts. "Why is that impressive?"

"Well, he allergic to dogs right, so I thought he'd have moved out as quickly as possible since Tazz was around and stuff."

Phil fought the urge to face palm himself. /I can't talk to him. It's too painful./ He drew in another calm, recollecting deep breath. "To my point, what I have to tell you involves Mark and Tazz."

Jeff's bland look of blind comprehension faltered almost instantly. "No Phil."

Brooks sold a look of total puzzlement. "No what?"

"Don't do it." He rested his hands over Phil's and gave them both a gentle squeeze. Blue eyes saddening by the second. "I know how much you like Mark and you might even see this as a once in a lifetime opportunity to finally tell him how you feel, but please don't kick out Tazz just because Mark's allergic to him."

If his head could unscrew itself and fall over so as to best show his stunned feeling, it would have done so three seconds ago. "J-Jeff, I'm..." /My brain is bleeding. I don't believe he's turned this into.../ He exhaled roughly as if trying to quickly rid his bloodstream of carbon dioxide. "What? What are you talking about Jeff? How did-"

"Tazz is a stray Phil." Jeff intruded tentatively. "He loves you even if he doesn't show it too well, and if you kick him out just for Mark's sake then he'll have to continue living life on the streets without any more room in his heart for love or kindness or even joy." Jeff clenched Phil's hands tighter forcing the skin of the man's right palm to weld to the metallic skin of the studs decorating the black leather collar. "And I know you don't have the heart to abandon someone like that."

Phil shook his head in utter disbelief. /He's an idiot./ Ever since a few years ago, Phil had come to terms with having that thought about Jeff Hardy. Upon meeting the older blond on the streets of New York nearly a decade ago, Phil was always aware of Jeff's unstable mindset and his inability to fully comprehend situations. Hardy had always approached life with a smile that bore nothing but joy, and despite having ran away in fear of his older brother (who Phil barely knew of at the time) with only five dollars and the clothes on back, his outlook on life remained – dare Brooks say – more cheerful than ever. It had taken all of Phillip's deceptive skills to keep the then younger Jeff away from the wrong crowd and the wrong substances. One lie told another when it was just him and Jeff against the world for two straight months, however some habits proved to be more die hard than others. Heroine found its way to Jeff and after his fifth near-death experience, Phil convinced Jeff to move with him. High on his "last" dosage, Jeff agreed but passed out on the way. He woke up in his childhood bedroom and found a sleeping Matt Hardy lying in the chair beside him. It would be a few more years before a much younger Phillip Brooks returned to Jeff Hardy's life. And when he did, Phil discovered that the man he had babysat for a little over two months was still the world's biggest and nicest idiot.

"I..." He turned his eyes down to his hands. "I did abandon him. I did it once before, and I did it again a week ago." His tone shied. "The truth is Jeff... sometimes I think he's better off without me. But then that might just be my coward side talking. The side that doesn't want to say anything because it fears the consequences."

Jeff peered sympathetically at his friend. "I'm sure that whatever you have to say, Tazz will always be there to listen. He's not going to judge you Philly." Phil glanced up weakly at him, bringing a small, comforting smile to the face of Jeff Hardy. "He's not that kind of stray."

Phil scoffed emphatically more to himself than anyone else. His eyes raked over the small part of the collar that stuck out. The small bone with _Tazzy_ scribbled in cursive glistened back in an inanimate form of reassurance. "You're right." He shot his eyes to Jeff. A rabid serious tone highlighted his now shadowed sapphires. "With that in mind, I honestly believe it's time I told you about what's really going on." Alien focus bore deep onto Jeff's face. Phil took a deep breath, "You see the truth is, Mark Calaway is my-"

"Hey Phil!" A voice called from the far left alerting both of the seated men to it. Phil turned to meet the glare of an oncoming Matt Hardy. "I need to talk to -" Brown eyes landed on Jeff's hand clutching to Phil's. A devastating frown craved into his forehead almost cracking his skull in two. "What's going on here?"

Noting immediately what suddenly set Matt off, Jeff pulled away and smiled idiotically at his brother. "We were just talking." He gave the older man a long hug. "I was soooooo bored Matty. So I came to give Phil some trouble."

Matt smirked kindly at his brother. "You need help." He looked back down at Phil – a protective arm still wrapped around Jeff's shoulder welding the man to his side. "I see Jeff's given you _Tazz's_ present."

Phil glanced down at the object in his hand and gave a shy chuckle. "Yeah. Thanks. It's um... something that _Tazz_ would definitely need."

"Make sure he wears it all the time." Matt teased knowingly. "If he ever gets lost, that in-built GPS system can find him for you."

Phil gave a coy smile." You're a darling Matt."

"Well," The older man slid a side grin. "Seeing that today marks the end of two months, Jeff thought it was time to get him a birthday."

/End of two months?/ "Yeah." Phil frowned a bit. /Today's the start of a third month?/ The younger man's eyes went wide in an instant as a long-forgotten memory suddenly ransacked his mind.

"_Three months." _

Mark Calaway's trademark gravel voice tuned into the now blanked mind of Phillip Brooks, succeeding in silencing all the various noises that surrounded the young brunette.

"_I'll do this pet thing for three months and then I'm gone, and we __never, ever__ talk about it." _

/He didn't talk to me today./ Realization hit Phil's expression with the force of a thousand falling bricks. It squashed all life out of the man. /That's because today starts month number three./ The sterling silver coldly kissed the middle of his palm and the tips of his fingers, but soon the feeling no longer registered to a now far-gone Phillip Brooks.

"_After I leave, you don't come near me and I won't go near you. Got it?"_

The brunette's jaw clenched shut as his racing mind suddenly found something to focus on. And that was the instant threat that Mark Calaway – his pet – would suddenly no longer be a resident in his apartment. The time he thought he had to sieve through his feelings and words had instantly ran out without a moment's notice leaving him to stare at the blank wall of apprehension. For all intents and purposes, his deal with Calaway was now on the frayed ends of its rope.

"We decided to make today his birthday." Jeff's accented voice drawled in with happiness loaded in each letter. "Normally you'd give it six months, but three months shy isn't-"

"I have to go." Phil shot to his feet instantly, startling both Matt and Jeff. A heightened sense of urgency coursed beneath his cerulean eyes.

It caught Matt's attention. "Why the sudden need to-"

"I just have to go." Once more Phil intervened with razor-sharpness. "I haven't accomplished anything and my time's almost up." His words stumbled over each other with the speed at which they were being spoken. "It may as well be...I..." He focused on both men. "I'll see you around." With that, Phil turned to leave. Matt pulled away from Jeff and grabbed the retreating man on his shoulder to stop his movements.

"Before you go I think I should let you know something. It's about-"

"It can wait!" Phil shrugged Matt off his shoulder and added a fierce glower to the mix as he glared harshly at the older man. "It has to wait."

Not one to enjoy being snapped at, Matt defensively retaliated. "Listen, this is very important alright!" He roared louder. "It's about -"

"See ya!" Brooks jogged quickly down the stairs and eventually disappeared from sight leaving Matt to enjoy the bitter taste of the words he meant to say.

The older brunette frowned heavily at the spot where Phillip Brooks was standing before he turned to see the heavy look of worry imprinted onto his younger brother's face. It saddened him a bit.

"Was it something we said?" Jeff inquired softly and sheepishly.

Matt offered a kind smile as he gave his brother a quick hug. "It wasn't that baby." He ruffled the blond's hair effectively brightening Jeff's mood. "Don't worry about Phil." /I'm sorry I have to lie to you Jeff./ Kind brown eyes sat on Jeff's now joyous blues. "I'm sure whatever life dishes out he can handle it." /But it's the only way I can keep you from getting caught up in the ugliness of all this./

Jeff trusted his brother and turned to pick up the scraps of wrapping paper that had been littering the floor. Matt simply sighed heavily and gave one last look at the first floor at the bottom of the staircase. The area below him seemed to represent the times in his life when things weren't as convoluted. However, for each of those times he recalled to be knotted in some convolution, the face of the younger brunette would instantly pop up showcasing that once more, Phillip Brooks, had brought complications into his life. /You really have hit rock bottom Phil. And it's even deeper than ever./ He sighed again. This time more defeated than the last.


	12. Kicker Limits From The Odds

School + Work = MURDER IN THE FIRST DEGREE!

No! School + Work = LICENSE TO KILL!

Man alive this is brutal! Good flip! Anyways, enjoy the (really really really late) update. :D _

Not every man had it made like Mark Calaway. The brunette, as a child, grew up in a stable home. He then went on to lead a rather normal life – if normal these days still held true to its original meaning – and was now at the top of the food chain in both WWE and his life. Mark Calaway was the man who could own anything he laid his eyes upon. However, be it his kind nature to set things free, or simply because he lacked all the requirements that made up an owner, Mark didn't own much of anything. He had enough power in the WWE to garner him long term vacations for almost the entire year and thanks to his God-given body build people generally stayed far from him or at least tried hard not to anger the man. The life of Mark Calaway got even more enviable with the current situation. Some random luck had passed over the older man and in the blink of an eye he was currently staying at an apartment –that wasn't his –for free, and basically had full run of the house. No other man could boast such a spoon fed life. Then again, no other man would become someone's pet just to get the latter. And to add, no other man was staring the phrase "working to death" in the face quite clearly as Mark Calaway was.

He had power over Vince McMahon simply because he was like the ancient mythical beast that appeared on the grandest stage of them all just to add to his undefeated streak. People paid to see the Undertaker. Had this been near two decades ago, Mark Calaway would be more than happy to oblige. However, his line of work rarely saw men to the ripe old age of fifty, and would often cut them off halfway there. After his match with Shawn Michaels, his fate became clear. Mark was running on one leg – and it was badly injured. Adding to that, the brunette did not posses something that came to every other person as natural as breathing. And that was future retirement. Truth be held at this station, it was possible to retire in the WWE if you were as old as Ric Flair, or as broken as Shawn. The Undertaker was neither. Despite the fact that doctors had instructed Mark to keep better care of his slowly rusting knees and legs, because he wasn't facing the threat of life in a wheelchair, Vince McMahon proclaimed the DeadMan to be in full health. In actual fact, Mark did not mind the prospect of not retiring. For starters he didn't have a family who missed him and was waiting at home for him like most of his former co-workers did. Over his years with the WWE, he had travelled to every major country in the world and so travelling was out of the question. To top it all off, Calaway never invested in a house and so should he retire the brunette knew he'd have nowhere to stay.

Enter the apartment. Three months was the deal. And today was month three. It was just the start, but now there were only a measly twenty nine days left before the month ended. Retirement was never a priority to Mark Calaway. However, his joints weren't as spry as they once were. His body didn't heal as quickly nor did it recover as suddenly. And to at the zenith of it all, people were now becoming quite content with purchasing the DeadMan's DVD rather than seeing him give them yet another one of his famous WrestleMania matches. It would take a deaf man not to hear the whispers of who should take his streak rather than who _could_ take his streak. Like it or not, Mark Calaway – like an old tiger – could sense his end. With that knowledge, plans had to be made. But, at the age of forty six, the large brunette was beginning to question if that time had already come and gone.

The sun had long since risen in the sky and was now tinting it with a hazy yellow. A few ominous grey clouds had straddled themselves across the blue sky and were slowly making their way to the vicious sun. He didn't know exactly how long he had been sitting on the edge of the bed, and it was thanks to his freight train of a mind that such a problem imposed itself upon Mark Calaway. /It was a deal./ A sense of jaundice encompassed him in the blink of an eye. Today was the start of month three. Today begun the clock that counted down to the day that Mark would have to leave the apartment to go and live at only God-knew-where. The relocating part of the whole scenario did not pose much of anything, least of all a threat, to Mark Calaway as the man was already used to hitchhiking when it came to bunking in random places. He was similar to a dry leaf caught in a heavy wind when it came to subject of relocation, so the matter in that was not a matter at all. If anything could be blamed for Mark Calaway sitting down on the lip of the bed with eyes staring at the floor and an angry stomach protesting in a low tone, it would most definitely be the fact that Calaway did not want to leave. He did not want to _have_ to leave. /Get a hold of yourself Mark! You can just ask him for an extension/ The thought quickly dissolved into one of two problems. The second wasn't really a problem seeing as Phil didn't look like the kind of guy to kick a man when he's down. The problem sadly enough, laid in the bosom of the first – Mark Calaway was not a man to break a deal.

It was foolish ego, more than anything, which had prompted the embarking of such a distasteful rule onto himself, however it was a rule nonetheless. And the heavyweight brunette did not intend to break that rule. /Why am I making this so damn confusing?/ He cursed mentally at no one but himself. /I don't want him out of my life! I don't but.../ Dark-haired brows drew closer together./Is that enough reason to stay? What if he doesn't think the same thing? I mean it's not like he's depending on me...if anything I'm –/ He broke his own thoughts after bringing up a large hand to rake it roughly through near tightly wound dark curls that sat atop his head and streamed over the back of his broad neck and shoulders. A loud long breath of hot air escaped his lips, allowing his puffed cheeks to deflate instantly. The older man was now caught between two hard places with a sharp rock below. The problem had arisen upon realizing earlier in the day that his time here was now literally limited, and now having the knowledge that there wasn't much he could do to change that./Damn it./ He flung his head sharply back, forcing his eyes to stare absently at the somewhat low ceiling above. /Why did I ever take his offer?/ The whiteness of the ceiling coupled with the blaze of the still-very-much-there afternoon sun hurt his eyes and forced him to squint them a bit. However, he didn't turn away or lower his gaze for fear of not being able to ever move from the spot in which he sat for who-knew-how-long. /Why did I go and start liking him? This just makes it-/

Soft and then loud. That was the path the knock on the door was currently walking. It brought Calaway out of his deep thoughts causing the man to jump to his feet when prior to, he hadn't been able to accomplish the feat. He walked out through the open room door and headed to the one that marked the entrance for the apartment. For reasons unknown, the older man took a moment's pause to gather his rather untidy self – his sweatpants were hanging limply to the start of his lower half showcasing his navy blue boxers in near full view, and the T-Shirt he had on (being an "over sized" one belonging to Phil and all) had somehow twisted itself around his torso and so needed Mark's full attention to attain a successful uncoil – before finally opening the door. One word could describe the look that instantly made a home on Mark's face. And that word was derision.

"Hi there." Was the tone of the blond man standing outside the door way. "Can I come in?" His astute tone asked with command rather than simple request. It didn't help any that his trademark smirk was now threatening to split his face in two.

Mark looked over the blond's head in a blatant fashion before dropping cold emeralds onto his face. "Are you lost Copeland?" Adam tilted his head a bit to his lower left with clear confusion lining his facial expression. Mark continued on in his dry husk. "You have to be lost if you've come here in the middle of the day to look for Phil."

Adam flashed a smile once understanding hit. "I'm not here for little Philly," Mark's eye twitched noticeably in annoyance, "I'm here to talk to you." He ended his sentence by planting a trigger finger into the perceptible crevice of Mark's highly defined chest.

Calaway did not move so much as a hairs length. His eyes still focused intensely onto the face of Adam Copeland.

There was never any blood – not one minuscule drop – that had been lost between these two. In the very distant past, Mark did not associate himself with anyone and such a distinction did not separate itself from a then much younger Adam Copeland. The blond haired, blue eyed deuce, was a small-time troublemaker in the eyes of everyone who knew him and for that he never caught anyone's attention outside of work. Then came five years ago. For reasons unknown, Glenn Jacobs had become infatuated with Jeff Hardy – aka the younger brother of a very possessive-to-the-point-of-homicidal Matt Hardy – and despite Mark's warnings on occasion, the man still gunned for Hardy's heart. Back then, everyone knew of Adam's love for Matt Hardy. And his subsequent love for pain – the emotional kind. Having seen such a great opportunity in the form of Glenn's infatuation, Adam decided to take it upon himself to bring Glenn closer to Jeff. Through a highly detailed plan that Mark Calaway took no time to revise let alone learn, the Rated-R Superstar was suddenly the man Matt was hanging around with and Glenn was suddenly an outcast with words like "decadent", "vindictive", "vile", and "cruel" (words that best described people like Adam Copeland) being the highlight of his person. Glenn seemed to brush the words and rumors off, however the same could not be said for his other half. Being the older brother, Mark didn't kindly to the words, and took even less kindly to having Matt accuse Glenn of raping Jeff with intent to attack again; therefore the older brunette went out on an investigation to locate the person responsible for making his brother's life a miserable hell. His blood hound tendencies – mainly surrounding the use of force and death threats – landed him at the door of Adam Copeland. The latter man at first denied such accusations, but one threat and a punch that drove him to the concrete floor was all it took for him to own up and swear to never do it again. Needless to say, Adam continued without Glenn, but the younger blond was forever branded onto Mark's hate list.

"I don't mind talking to you out here because quite frankly it is safer," Adam's wiry voice etched into Mark's thoughts bringing the man back to reality that was Copeland now invading his space by leaning closer to him, "but I don't think you want anyone else to know the real reason Phillip Brooks lets you live here free of cost."

Mark's frown etched deeper as he now glared at the man standing below him. For some reason, he just knew that Adam understood exactly what he as saying. And it begged the question – the top among many now swarming through Mark's mind – of how he knew of the true nature of his situation with Phil. After getting over the sickly feeling in his gut, Mark stepped back and allowed Adam to enter the abode. The latter man offered up a smirk instead of a formal "thank you" and strode into the apartment as if he owned it. A blood vessel locked beneath the thin fabric of Mark's skin and the hard opaqueness of his skull popped upon seeing the smug look anchored onto the face of Adam Copeland as he took a comfortable seat onto the high chair that sat ahead of the granite overhang– the place where Mark would sit and watch Phil work in the kitchen whenever the mood struck him. Two blood vessels welded in his head exploded simultaneously. The sight of Adam Copeland was revolting. And it made Mark hate him even more.

"I expected his pad to be like this." Copeland started with a soft swag in his tone. Bright cobalt eyes scanned the small apartment in the faster version of a Terminator, before finally locking up with the distant, shadowed jades of Mark Calaway. "It's meant for one. Sort of like how he is..."He paused in thought, "or at least strives to be."

Mark folded his arms heavily across his chest as he leaned his back against the now closed front door. "I recalled you having something to say to me." His frown deepened. "Say it quickly."

"Wow, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning." He sighed heavily as if the next words needed to be emphasized with just that. "I won't say that I haven't earned all the hatred I've accumulated over the years, but don't go thinking that I'm here to offer some form of apology because we both know it won't be sincere. To make a long story short, Mark," He spat the man's name, "I came here to give you a heads up on our mutual friend."

Mark had heard the term before – mutual friend – and he never liked it then and that was not about change in the now or future. "Allow me to give you a heads up Copeland." He started dryly. "Anything you have to say to me about Phil is going to fall on deaf ears. So either change the subject, or get out."

Copeland flashed a quick, uncomfortable grin – uncomfortable for Mark that is – and forced his hair down and back with a heavy hand as he stared at Mark a bit gleam-eyed. "Well that's the problem right there because the whole reason I came here was to tell you all about our Philly." He sighed under a low exhale. "But before that, do you have anything to drink because I am thirsty."

Encased in utter apathy, Calaway stood anchored to the floor that sat a few centimeters away from the apartment's doorway. Heavy overcast jades lingered on Adam's face with piercing focus and intent to dissect. Despite the obvious painful air, Copeland continued to stare at Mark with the same asking expression planted firmly on his face. It brought down Mark's defenses a bit, and soon the older man – showing disinterest in pursuit by releasing a long sigh beneath his breath – headed over to the wall kitchen and began scrounging the fridge for something to offer that wasn't H2O. He came up with a glass of orange juice.

"Thanks." The blond spoke before devouring the liquid contents of the small glass. Once all the orange fluid had vanished down the tunnels of his esophagus, Adam slammed the glass down onto the granite counter top – much in the same fashion that a man at a bar would once he finished his scotch – and drew in a deep breath. His eyes lit up a bit... frighteningly... as they landed on Mark. A smirk followed. "You look like you're trying to stare a hole right through me."

Copeland was more right than Calaway cared to accept. He didn't like him. He didn't like having him here, in Phil's apartment, drinking orange juice and grinning like a scoundrel hyena. With the previously aforementioned aside, Mark's real reason behind the deadly glare he was dishing out stemmed solely from one simple fact: Adam Copeland had something to say about Phillip Brooks. And based on pure instinct – and his knowledge of what crawled beneath the mask of the Ultimate Opportunist – Mark knew for certain that he wasn't going to like one bit of it.

"Just say what you came here to say Copeland, because I haven't got all day." It was the chivalry in him talking. Calaway was certain of it as there could be no other earthly reason why he was allowing the young blond to speak.

"Really?" His voice gnawed against the rough edges of its grater-like surroundings. His tone sat on the apical of taunting. "And what pressing and demanding issues could you possibly have awaiting you Calaway?" Mark's expression replied like a man void of all sense of humor. "Alright then." Adam slipped his lower back into the cup of the counter chair's support – using the sturdy cushion as a padding of comfort. He was easing into his surroundings like a boss would when entering the office of a rival company.

In gambling, such an act would be called a bluff. Hence for Calaway, Adam's desperate attempt to get more comfortable in the current situation meant that either he or what Copeland was about to voice was having a profound effect on the blonde's psyche. Knowing that brought an inner smile to Mark Calaway.

"I'm sure by now you've realized that something's _off_ when it comes to Phil."

"Off?" Mark questioned rather distantly.

"I mean..." The blonde started, and then sighed. "Alright. Let me ask you this Mark. Have you ever felt like you've been here before?" Calaway responded with silence. This time, however, he did it because he truly couldn't answer the question rather than not having a desire to answer any of Adam's questions. "You know..." Adam pressed on, "Haven't you ever felt like you've seen this place before, or you've –" He paused to rake the area within the parameter of his peripheral vision before finding what he wanted to say " – drank this orange juice from that exact same fridge in this exact same glass."

By the look on Adam's face, it was clearly apparent that the latter half of what he said was most definitely not what he intended. Calaway remained silent – arms now back in their folded-across-large-chest position – allowing the young man time to rethink and restate.

"What I'm getting at is..." His eyes locked the sunken jades embedded in the older brunette's skull. "I know you've been overwhelmed with a sense of familiarity during your time here. It's like you know this place. And you know Phil. Maybe not to an academic extent, but you know little things about him." Copeland drew a grin. "Like the fact that he chews constantly on his lip ring and for some reason it pisses you off." The grin grew a grin of its own. "Or like the fact that when he talks to you, you can't help but notice the way his lips fold around each word yet you just can't understand why you feel the pressing urge to lock them with yours because somehow you just know they taste good."

Had it not been against his religion (acerbically speaking) Mark would have blatantly denied the claims Adam was making, unceremoniously dismiss the younger man, and return to his former position of waiting. "What are you talking about?" He asked as nonchalantly as he could – knowing full well how overly-calm his tone must have sounded.

"Come on Mark, you can't be that blind." Adam scoffed to himself before continuing on. "You mean to tell me that you've been living under his roof for three straight months and _nothing_ struck you as odd?" When Mark didn't reply, Copeland took the incentive and continued. "Alright then, but I'm sure you can at least tell me that you realize he's head over heels for you?"

The last question came out of nowhere and threw Mark off his steady ship into the arms of the raging, calamitous sea a few feet below. /No./ Was on the tip of his tongue, however the older man thought otherwise and remained stoically silent.

It brought a near devastated sigh from the mouth of Adam Copeland. "Man you are so dense." He stated in a spelling fashion. "I guess I have to start from the very, very beginning with you huh?" Another statement – even though it was being asked rather than told. It garnered Mark's full attention. "Let's speak in hypothetical terms then...eh?"


	13. Singleton Ranks Below 14

**Wow wee... This took long enough. Well, here it is (finally)! ENJOY!**

* * *

"_I know about Phil and Mark." He let his words sink their teeth in before continuing. "I know about their history together." He paused again to grin. "I know about the whole pet deal. And I gotta say it made me miss the good ol' days."_

_His audience stood confused. Matt Hardy did not quite understand exactly why he felt that Phillip Brooks, and his single real conversation with man, warranted any form of discussion with Adam Copeland. The fact showed plainly on his face._

_Seemingly despite that, the blond went on. "And it's because of what I know that I decided to use blackmail as a means to getting into Phil's pants." He smirked coyly. "For free this time."_

_Thanks to Adam's infuriating grin, Matt immediately threw away his original pasted look of perplexity-on-the-verge-of-understanding, and instead craved a canyon-sized frown into his forehead. _

"_You blackmailed him for sex?" A snarl aimed to showcase raw disgust curled onto the brunette's pixie-liked nose. "Is there no level you won't stoop to?"_

_Copeland shrugged to answer the question – as if having an infuriated Matt Hardy was the equivalent to getting an ant angry – before dropping the top of his back onto the wall behind. There was a blind spot at the back end of the gym where two major walls met forming a ninety degree angle. It was there that Adam chose to drag Matt to before telling the man what he had promised to say. _

"_Don't let that moniker fool you though, Matt." The older Hardy raised an eyebrow. "Unlike back then, nothing happened between us." The older man let out a dramatic sigh. "Phil's just not the same as he once was." _

_Matt scoffed dryly – possibly sensing the heavy cynicism embedded in Adam's tone. "Don't tell me you actually thought he would remain the same naïve kid you met all those years ago." Heavy arms folded across a muscular chest. "He's learned his lesson the hard way, I'm sure. And besides, basically everybody knows that he's head over heels for Calaway." He let out a low "humph" through tightly pressed lips. "'Why is a mystery to me."_

"_A mystery huh?" Copeland's tone was solemn yet unsightly cynical. "What's really a mystery is why I keep falling for things that don't belong to me."_

_It was quite possibly the fact that behind the annoying confidence, Matt Hardy – thanks to years of accumulated knowledge on how to figure out the intricacies of Adam Copeland – clearly saw the lonely expression that tried its best to merely shadow the arrogance on Adam's face. The statement was not a statement at all. It was a question being asked out of sheer desperation. And it was only expected as after years of failing at love time after time, Adam Copeland had finally found his breaking point. And his whimsical, and often bold expressions that would challenge even the patience of Job, was now proving to be nothing more than a variety of wooden masks. It was solely because of that knowledge that Matt Hardy felt sorry for Adam. After all, even scumbags deserved love. _

"_To answer your concerns," Adam voiced breaking Matt's freight train of possibly regrettable emotions, "I'm not abusing Phil in anyway. Our deal is consensual - as hard as that is for you to believe –" He murmured, "but I will admit that blackmailing may as well thwart away the initial." With eyelids slammed shut and eyebrows raised –forming a series of heavy, streamlining grooves across his brow –Adam scrubbed the creases of his brow before scraping back his overhanging curly blond locks and finally shooting his glassy blues towards Matt Hardy. "Honestly, Phil's only upset with me because I'm threatening to tell Mark everything. Not because I'm doing unmentionables." He sighed a bit dramatically. "I guess with that said, I could do one of two things. One," He paused for particularly no reason at all, "I continue on with this deal, see it through, and of course go and dig up another way to tie Phil to me." Matt frowned a bit. "Or two." The blond started immaturely, "I just drop the whole thing, make amends, tie up some loose ends and call it a day." He offered a smile to Matt's stern expression. "You're taking to the latter huh?"_

_The younger man felt like replying out right with something either close to rage, had a blunt edge, or anything morally crushing. He would have given anything to reply. However having history with Adam Copeland – all of which he would gladly give an arm to forget – had cruelly taught Matt Hardy to never give into any form of urge that surrounded the older man. Hence, rather than rushing in with quite frankly a regrettable retort, the brunette decided to think_ before _acting. _

_With a look of calm painted professionally on his face, Matt spoke "So what are you planning to do exactly?"_

_Adam drew in air loudly through flared nostrils as if trying to dissect the surround odors for future classification. "Well," He started methodically, "let's just say that I'm going on a little side trip." The blond – after taking leisure in the moment of silence, which he had created – threw a sickeningly barbed smile over to Matt Hardy. _

_It instantly brought back the brunette's frown.

* * *

_

For years he had convinced himself of one thing and one thing only: He did not need a car. Although, quite contrarily, it could be honestly said that a car would have greatly helped his speed in getting back to the apartment, catching a cab did unerringly the same thing. However, neither driving nor paying the twenty dollars and fifty cents to be driven helped Phillip Brooks to be a second earlier as it seemed that being a second late was sadly perfect timing.

The first thing he heard – upon arriving at his destination and embarking upon the hallway where his apartment was located – was a muffled sound (the kind of sound you would expect to hear when someone is shouting and you are listening from the other side of a thick, wooden door) followed by the very precise sounds of objects hitting bone. Or vice versa. Curiosity – and maybe even instinct – forced him to open his apartment door and for a split second Brooks wished that he had not as the last thing he had expected to see was staring him blatantly in the face. Mark Calaway, thanks to his commendable utilization of one half of a two handed choke slam finishing maneuver, was pinning a gasping – and bloody – Adam Copeland to the wall.

The young brunette did not react until much, much later.

"M-Mark!" By the time Phil's gym bag hit the floor, he was already frantically clawing away at Mark's death grip. Both eyes wide to the situation. "What are you –" He paused to offer more strength to prying Mark's hands off of Adam's now pulped neck. "Mark! Let go!" He ordered.

Calaway – initially not realizing the presence of the Straight-Edge Superstar – finally tore his eyes away from Adam's now blanched face and thrust the smoldering jades onto the scared expression of one Phillip Brooks.

"Phil" He deflated almost instantly as both hands fell from the foreign skin above to land on the textured fabric of his dark blue jeans.

Adam's body crash landed shortly after gravity took effect, allowing the blond to inhale the sweet taste of fresh air. He shakily – yet rather cockily –stood to his feet once he caught a deep breath. No one paid his situation any attention as the pair of cerulean blues continued to sift through the shadowed jades embedded in the skull of Mark Calaway.

"Mark" He asked with the overtone of stating. Instead of rushing at lightning speed, Phillip Brooks chose to walk to Mark with caution more necessary when approaching a man eating beast rather than a normal man. His hand gingerly touched the apex of Mark's elbow in a gesture to calm the raging seas. "Mark." He asked gently, "What's -"

The older man unexpectedly pulled his arm away – more blatantly than subtly – and threw his gaze slightly downwards to his immediate left. The direction away from Phillip Brooks. The younger brunette felt his heart sink like a falling rock as Calaway instantly grew a cold layer of granite around his person. Five seconds of moping was all Phil allotted to himself before he angrily paid full attention to the now seated Adam Copeland.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He venomously spat the question while throwing a moving index finger and planting it firmly into the sternum of Copeland. The older man cringed a bit in well-hidden pain. It caught Phil's attention, but he shook it away. "How the hell did you get –"

"I have my ways." Copeland state dismissively. His sly expression shot over to Mark's facing broad back before returning to Phil's angry expression. "I take it you're not happy to see me."

A rapid succession of thought ran through the mind of the younger brunette. At the top of the list was the need to punch Adam Copeland squarely into the next life. However, once his eyes took a moment to wander over the state of the blond – split lower lip that trickled a small trail of blood, swollen left cheek that sported being dyed in scarlet, and his overall disheveled attire – it became more than obvious that the urge to beat Copeland down had already been gruesomely played out by someone else. It was in that moment that Brooks took his eyes – now slightly wider thanks to realization – off Adam to gaze critically and despondently upon the tensed hands that sat almost laxly at the sides of Mark Calaway. The bruised knuckles told Phil all he needed to know.

"I just don't get it." Copeland's sardonic voice chimed in to lasso Phil's attention. "Here you are living with the man you've been in love with since God…forever! ... and he knows nothing at all about you?" He sighed almost emphatically – something that could be otherwise slated as an act of arrogance as it was a sigh coming from Adam Copeland after all – before cracking a small grin not necessarily meant to aggravate, yet having done so. "Well, he knows now."

It was not as if he had suddenly gone deaf in the moment, it was just that Adam's words had become almost indistinguishable. More precisely, however, the entire room seemed to hit a low point on the noise-scale. Phil's face found itself at a crossroads of expressions. On one side, he could continue to look blisteringly angry, but on the other hand he could look utterly jaw-dropped shocked with a hint of disbelief. Brooks went slightly unwillingly with option one.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He shrieked in dismay. Both his hands moved without first consulting the mind, and found themselves gripping Adam's already tousled shirt subsequently dragging the man's smug face irritatingly closer to his. "What the hell did you do?" His voice cried out from the abyssal bowels of his throat.

Copeland simply offered a thin grin as a response. Realizing its futility, Phil gave up on using intimidation and let go of his grip on Adam. He flung on his preferred expression and looked over – almost instinctively – at Mark. The older man had not moved an inch from his former position. His jades – from where Phil was standing – seemed completely engulfed in their overhanging shadows. The loose ponytail that slipped down midway into the mid-line crack of his large back had discarded curly strands curtaining the majority of Calaway's partially exposed face. However, unlike most of his facial expression, the obvious truth chose to hide out in plain view. Mark Calaway was seething.

"Mark I –" Phil started tellingly –mincing each letter as they passed by – with eyes darting between Adam's smirk and Mark's overcast agitation. /What the hell did Adam tell him?/ "Mark…I'm sorry. I –" Apologizing seemed to be the best way to go in the mind of Phillip Brooks. "I meant to tell you –"

"I don't even know who I'm angrier at." Mark's voice echoed off a gritty backdrop. His head lifted to slide cold eyes over to both Phil and Adam. "You" He stated platonically with heavy jades sitting on Adam – forcing the man to drop his trademark grin, "for coming in here and telling me everything." A subtle right movement got his gaze to focus on Phil. "Or you." The words scraped off the back of his dry throat. "For making me out to be everybody's fool."

Brooks felt the driving urge to say something – something in defense – and the brunette had even gotten past the preparation stage, however two stand-out factors thwarted the urge. He did not know what Mark now knew, and for fear of adding more information to Mark's new-found knowledge pried his mouth shut. On the second hand, reason number one had ensured that the younger man could not hope to defend himself. More importantly, and above all else, the reason Phil held close to silence was truthfully not so logical. It was simply because he did not want to speak.

There was a deep stain of hurt and disarray branded onto the very lenses of Mark's sunken jades. Despite having the rich afternoon light pour in from nature herself, looking at Mark Calaway, Phil felt as though he was suddenly flung into a stiflingly dark room with no sense of escape. It was a crushingly lonely feeling that only served to add to the man's growing fear.

"Get out." Mark spoke viciously with eyes still piercing through Phillip's eyes. A wave of silence crashed and receded back to its ocean before Calaway flicked his fiery emeralds over to the man intended. "Get out. Now." He growled.

Having done what he had set out to do, and incidentally not being one to hop into a fight that did not play to his favor with unmatched bravado, Adam Copeland rose open palms to show a willingness to comply and sauntered over to the front door. From the safety of the now open door, the blond prepped himself to say something witty and arrogant, however one glare from the still seething Mark Calaway – also known as the man who both beat him down and attempted to strangle him to death only a mere few minutes ago – was all it took to shoot his intentions back down his throat.

The older blond daringly chose to at least throw a glance to Phil with the full intention of personally attempting to showcase his want to burying the hatchet and giving up. The brunette missed the crucial eye contact and did not give even so much as a minuscule gift of acknowledgment, as his frightened eyes were still focused on the side of Mark's face in thought of what to say once those scorching jades made their way back to him. The door shut rather softly – 'rather' being more than normal – leaving the apartment Adam Copeland free.

After an antagonizing few minutes, Calaway's jaw unclenched as he resumed staring at the face of Phillip Brooks. The younger man looked perplexed and terrified. He was well aware of the fact that Mark was still very much angry – and that knowledge only added to his fright – but the ire that had once been the prevalent force of Calaway's eyes had diminished only slightly into something indistinguishable. There in laid Phillip's confusion.

The younger man waited in the few seconds of overbearing silence before finally decided to break the mold. "Mark," He searched the man's now vacant expression for any kind of hint as to what to voice next. Calaway stubbornly gave none away. "Mark what did he say to you?" Phil knew he sounded desperate – a ninety percent surety if nothing more – but the need to know over-weighed that. "What did Adam say to you?"

Calaway stuck to uninterrupted silence for reasons unknown. /Why didn't you tell me anything?/ His heavy jades – devoid of all indignation at this point – held a thoughtful yet saddened look as they stared almost wearily at Phil. /Why did I have to hear it all from somebody else? From Copeland?/

"Mark?" The feel of a warm set of familiar fingertips beached the skin of Mark's lower arm. It brought the man out of impending ire. "Talk to me."

The older man drew in a deep breath before letting it out in a loud, slow sigh. It served to momentarily rid his mind of all the countless 'whys' that had plagued it. "Phil…"He started without having any knowledge of what to say next. "I'm not a judge. I can't judge, so... I can't judge you by events in your past, but..." A deep frown instantly scarred his forehead as he stared deep into Phil's eyes. "Why did you...how could you think..." He found himself in a verbal fight with himself. And to add salt to the proverbial cut, he was the referee. His arm drew out of Phil's clutches – an act that caused Brooks' heart to plummet almost in plain sight. "Why the hell didn't you tell me about all this?" He roared, while making a gesture to the surroundings as if to emphasize what 'this' was.

Phil – with a slightly bowed head – dropped his eyes to the floor. In that instant, the younger man knew for a certainty that he could have come up with a million answers to Mark's question, but he didn't bother voicing them because doing so would not make Mark Calaway any less angry. However, being the double-edged sword, it was not as if remaining silent did any good. Calaway got angrier just because of it.

"Answer me damn it!" Mark's tongue lashed out from a spine-chilling short distance. Phil flinched hard causing his back to knock the wall behind. With predator-like velocity, the older brunette twined his line of sight in different directions, before finally catching the frightened gaze of the man intended. Phil had at last lifted up his head only to find a seething Mark Calaway staring right at him. "Why the hell didn't you tell me all of this?" Mark restated in a gruff tone that was strikingly similar to a growl – a growl with words.

"I" Brooks opened his mouth to reply but instead of a commanding tone, he shot out a low murmur that – God no – squeaked. "I don't know what to -" He stopped himself only to amble on. "I can't..." Cerulean eyes lit up with full-blown desperation. A sign labeled 'Help Me' mixed with a bit of 'I'm So Sorry' stapled itself across his drawn face. /I have to say something!/ "Mark, I didn't..." He etched a bit closer to the older man only to have Calaway recede.

The blatant distance that the older brunette had now put between himself and Phil served to sink what was left of Brook's heart. Had it been physically possible, the younger man would have deflated right then and there. However, it was not as if Mark Calaway was looking any better, as the older man's expression sat stifled under the pressure of planks of crushing sadness. Unusually though, it was not the typical type of sadness. Stretching as it might be, Mark Calaway's expression looked to be stained in abyssal disappointment. Upon noting that truth, Phil grew insanely desperate – the kind of desperate that would become anything if it meant fixing the broken.

"Mark, listen." He drew back the urge to touch Calaway – or reach out to the man on any physical plateau – and chose to speak from a distance. "Yes, I wrong not to talk to you about everything, but Mark..." He trailed his voice as his eyes searched the now scorched orbs of Calaway's. "I couldn't tell you. I mean you have to understand that I..." He searched his mind for the words, but the art of making excuses had run its course on Phil. The man could go no further as there was only so many times one could run around the bush until fatigue set in. "I couldn't tell you Mark because," His tone dropped to the shadowed stage of pathetic. "It's because I was afraid."

"Afraid?" Mark asked from a seeming distance. "Afraid of what?" Phil's eyes darted to his lower left. The action did not go unnoticed. "Of me?" The older man sounded less angry and more hurt.

Brooks weighed his options with eyes welded to the floor. Answer truthfully – also known as option number one – and risk losing and/or further angering Mark. Or rather – option number two – not answer only to have the same frightening outcome. Maybe it was sheer cowardice, or a feeling of not wanting to be hung by his words, or maybe he saw futility and decided upon the earlier route. No matter the reason, Phillip Brooks remained silent by clamping his mouth shut.

Five long minutes ticked by. The afternoon sun soon shone a deep shadowed color of burnt orange as it slowly descended from its' sky throne. Evening was fast approaching, yet Phil still remained stuck in the phantom that was lurking over both men and their situation – silence.

"Oh." It only took a few seconds for Mark's gravelly voice to roll in and flatten the overbearing noiselessness. His tone was cold. Indignant. And torn with pain. "So it's me then."

It was not a question, but it contained a lethal amount of rhetoric. It was rather like a fact that had been known all along and avoided, only to have it come back and strike when least expected. And least wanted. It was not as if Mark Calaway had expected Phil to fear him, or knew that Phil was afraid of him day in and day out. Rather, the older man had fearlessly hung onto a loose hope that Phillip Brooks had no such fear. And he was now paying the price of his foolishness.

"What did I ever do that made you think of me like that?" There was no need to second guess at the moment as there was no doubt of the raw desperation that rang loudly through Mark's otherwise commanding voice. He sounded frail. And dare-it-be-said vulnerable.

Phil took a moment to draw his eyes to Mark. Immediately upon seeing the man, Phil felt the urge to cradle him rather than to waste time speaking. It was an instinct he went with, only to have the very man he wanted to help force his hands to the wall behind and nail them there. Brooks stared at Mark then glanced at his hands. He could feel the icy cold that coated Mark's skin. The warmth was gone from his touch. And by taking only one look at the expression that chose to sit kingly on the older brunette's face, Phil fearfully concluded that Mark Calaway was now devoid of all the warmth a body needed to survive.

Brooks felt the sting of oncoming tears burn the insides of his eyes. "Mark, I'm so sorry." His voice trembled away. "I didn't mean to keep it from you, but I just thought it'd be better if you never knew." His breathing started to stall on its own. "I just...I just didn't want you to see me for what I am. I didn't want you to know that something this...this...this disgusting" He spat "touched you." His brows creased upwardly in an effort to keep the tears from flowing. They settled achingly close on the rims of his eyes. "I couldn't tell you Mark, because I love you." He drew in a deep calming breath. "And no matter what I say, or no matter how I act, I really, really want you to feel the same."

"I did." Mark spoke stoically. His hands completely withdrew away from Phil's. "But it was for the wrong side of you." Without allowing a moment to pass, Calaway turned on his heels, grabbed his nearby jacket, and headed to the door. His large, muscular back was staring down the tear-stained face of Phillip Brooks. Once his body cleared the doorway, the wooden apartment door slammed shut.

It did not take long for loneliness to wrap and twist it's barbed hands around the now crumpled body of Phillip Brooks.


	14. Ranked Wild Card

**After countless weeks of walking through the deserts of writers block, I finally found my inspiration! And here is the next chapter of Lucky Charms gentle readers! ENJOY!

* * *

**

There was a smell. To be more precise there were many smells. He could not quite tell what each one was, but if a classification was so greatly required then he could easily state that the collections of scents made up the smell of a late night bar. Much like the one he used to work at. Upon grazing the now blurry landscape of the parameter, he was able to positively denote that this place was indeed his former part-time job. /Why am I here?/ He asked the now stagnant half empty glass of pure scotch. /How did I get here?/ Watered and glazed cerulean eyes tired in earnest to seem thoughtful. They failed.

"I didn't recognize you with your new hair cut." A voice echoed from directly beside him. The blurry vision picked up a pearly smile. "So what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

"I don't know." He responded ineptly and distantly before dropping his eyes back to the drink. /Why does it look so empty?/

"Alright then." A loud gulping sound could be heard from beside him. Then came the very recognizable sound of glass smacking wood. "The name's Jack. I figure you already know that, but I'm old school." A light chuckle that sounded like nails being strummed through a grater followed. "In light of that, can I get your name?"

Once more he forced himself to look up to his right. His eyes focused a bit harder than necessary in order to file out the styled blond hair, juvenile jaw line, a bright smile resembling a salesman and piercing blue eyes. None of these aspects equaled to the much preferred sight of Mark Calaway. With that made known, he opted to turn away and, without wondering why, finish the rest of the stagnant liquid. "It's Phil."

* * *

_The last thing he saw was a diner. It was the kind of diner that stayed open past midnight, and looked like a sketch of something out of an old mafia film. The kind that was plucked from the bosoms of the black and white days of the fifties, only to be coldly planted onto the concrete floor of the fast-moving twenty first century. The smell of strong coffee, eggs, bacon, and maybe even a whiff of pancakes hit him instantly. Despite Mr. Sun sitting high in the sky – denoting the peak of the afternoon (which afternoon was an unknown to him) – he felt tired. And more of less drained of all energy outputs that did not revolve solely around the necessary breathing, and blood pumping processes. _

_Before the diner, he recalled sitting at a bar table – atypical to him – and staring at virtually nothing in particular. It was night now, but somehow it felt like the night before the diner. Or maybe two nights before the diner. Either way, unlike his person at the diner, he now felt wide awake. His eyes scanned the area with an almost lazy content powering their movements, and landed on the mass of recognizable faces all around – the faces of co-workers all gathered together in this random bar. From the sight of helium balloons that seemed to sprout from everywhere to the very music that was playing, his mind instantly made it known that it was something of a celebration. A party being held with the sole niche of merriment. Once he finished storing his surroundings in the data bank of his mind, his eyes sat down onto the slightly large glass of pure Jack Daniels that sat on the bar counter top. He took it up in his hands – that, due to this being a sole recollection and not the actual event, felt alien to him – and put it to his lips before stopping right there. It was thanks to his sixth sense that he was able to sense that he was now the subject of observation. Thus, he followed the feeling to land heavy jades directly to his left, and three or four bar stools down the line sat the face of a younger Phillip Brooks. Phil's ebony locks – that seemed almost matted with grease even from this distance – were caught up in a short, untamed ponytail. His shirt seemed to fit a little loose for a guy his frame. For a while he sat confused as to why the young man – whom at the time he remembered not having known – was staring at him with such heavy and obvious intent. It felt as though the brunette's bright blue eyes were dissecting his every move down to a cellular level. Despite that fact bringing a slight frown to his face, his mind couldn't help but draw a bit closer to the slight urge to wipe the chalkiness off the younger Brooks' then porcelain expression and reveal the smile that would undoubtedly be lying beneath. Much like now, he could not explain why the urge came about and from where it originated. Nonetheless, he was not allotted much time to devote upon deciphering the urge as no sooner did his eyes catch the lingering piercing blues embedded in the skull of Phillip Brooks, did the younger man (younger even to the person he is today) turn away spasmodically__, finalizing his retreat by chewing on the ring housed on his lower lip. _

_The sight irked him for the same unknown reasons that he held today. And with that in mind, he looked at his drink. And drank it. _

_The diner instantly came back into his mind. The where here was and the how he got here sat on the tip of his mind. The brunette felt drained of all energy and even life itself. His shirt – he recalls – was fitted loosely. It oozed a certain smell that he wasn't used to. And that wasn't his. _

"_Sir?" A sweet, yet concerned voice chimed in. "Are you okay?"_

His eyes opened to the sight of the bland ceiling that seemed oddly further away than he was used to. The sudden tension in his mid-back harshly reminded him that he was lying on the floor. /Damn it./ He glared at the ceiling. /Why can't I remember anything?/ Mark Calaway did not make it a habit of reliving, or recalling events in his past. Hence why he never learned how to be a better gambler and instead consistently repeated the same mistakes. However, the current circumstances called for such means and Calaway was determined not to leave until he had answers.

Needless to say, his neck and back had other ideas. The cramp in them had now grown a shell cast from iron making even the thought of shifting painful. Either way, however, Mark Calaway was having trouble with locating the mechanisms and processes necessary to get up off the floor on which he now laid on. A long, low growl – louder than the last five – emitted from his forever protesting stomach. /I'm hungry./ He noted – as though the shouts of an angry stomach were not enough to point out that blatant fact. He dropped his heavy eyes – still being stung by the bright white-yellow light encasing the room – towards the tray atop a table on wheels that sat perpendicular to the front door. Beneath the silver covering, who knew what lay under there. However, it was quite obvious that room service – his first and only guess – had come through once again. /I should get up./ He sighed a bit drastically before willing himself to at least sit up straight. Once there, he stood to his feet to finally tend to the neck and mid-back that had been jailed in cramps for the past couple of hours. The light ate away at his being. He glared over at the blinded windows only to realize that an orange hue was glimmering in from the open slots. Instinctively he looked above to locate the source – a bulb had been left on where the bed-side lamp stood. /Stupid idiot./ He told no one in particular as he shuffled over – clad in loose gray sweat pants and a slightly fitted plain red T-shirt – to the lamp. His hand barely got in range of the abomination responsible for burning his eyes out before the sound of a series of knocking forced him to stop.

Bent slightly downwards with his hand still outstretched, Calaway waited anticipating the next series of knocks that surely came in full speed. He felt himself calming rising blood levels by drawing in longer and deeper breaths. After the third series, Mark stood upright and headed to the door. He pasted his eyeball onto the small glass peephole. Despite the dark hair – that must have surely sent his heart rate above and beyond normalcy – the face was definitely different. And it was certainly one he had not seen in a long time.

* * *

Maybe it was all just pure and uninterrupted instinct. Not necessarily the kind of instinct that could be classed as primal, but rather the type of instinct one had when the choice of left or right came instantly about. It was that kind of instinct that Glenn Jacobs found himself straddled with, and it had now landed him in the hotel's dining room.

/Damn it./ He cursed mentally as he downed yet another stiff glass of wine. The last drink rid the slender glass completely of the red liquid. Jacobs frowned at quite possibly the hundredth person to waltz by him in the course of time that he had been sitting in this room. /Where the hell is he?/ Fiery blues grazed the multicultural landscape for even a sign of a condescending blond, however like the past few times, both pupils caught a glimpse of no such person. And the fact was strumming hard on Glenn's last nerve. He rose a giant hand in the air at a slowed pace – quite improvident of his current feelings – and caught the attention of a nearby waiter. The average man paced quickly towards Glenn, bringing out his pocket notepad and trusted pen before reaching him.

"Would you like to order sir?" The waiter asked rather politely.

Jacobs stared at him before handing the younger man his empty glass. "More wine please."

A look of grimace crossed the waiter's normally placid face, but it vanished the instant his eyes made contact with the watchful pair stuck in the sockets of a seated Glenn Jacobs. "Coming right up."

Once the waiter took off, the large man sided with sighing yet again before raking his none existent hair with highly stub, yet manicured fingernails. He ran a hand over his face, dragging the features in an effort to tear them off for a more favorable expression, and soon another deep sigh escaped his pressed lips. /I should have just gone to Phil./ A slight tension crossed paths with his brow forcing it inward and down the second the thought completed itself in his mind. /Why should I have to go to him in the first place? The little fucker got what he deserved./ Once again, Jacobs scrubbed his facial expression. /Why do I even bother trying?/ He posed the question more to himself than anyone else, and came up with a handful of no answers.

"Now there's an unhappy face." The slimy tone chimed in with utter pubescence.

Glenn looked up to see the looming figure of a casually dressed Edge. Blond locks sat tucked neatly behind the ears, a plaid pop-collar shirt coated a plain messaged T-Shirt. The pair of blue jeans fit loosely as they made their way down to the All-Star sneakers that served to clothe Copeland's feet. A short stringed necklace with a rippled wooden pendant at the end, and a wrist-clutching bead bracelet with a crucifix suspended at its' finish topped the entirety of the outfit. In a simple term, Adam Copeland would fit in a crowd of young men rather than in a dining hall filled with older adults.

"What took you so damn long?" Jacobs snarled in irritation. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago."

"Touchy, touchy." Adam took a comfortable seat and threw the man ahead a pointed smile. "I may not look it, but I'm a very busy man. You call me out of the blue and expect me to just drop everything on spot?" He shook his head swiftly. "It doesn't work that way Glenn."

"I don't care how it works for you Adam. Scum don't get that kind of privilege." The older man spat venomously. "When I waste the breath to talk to you, you heed."

There was never a need in the lives of Adam Copeland and Glenn Jacobs to document their trial-and-error type history. However, had one been written quite possibly by someone who cared long enough, it would end up in a book twice the size of a large Encyclopaedia. For anyone who knew the two men – the question of knowing or not knowing their actual history need not be asked or answered – it was basic sense to have the knowledge that hate was all that ran between them.

Due to his obsession with Matt Hardy, Adam Copeland felt it best to utilize Glenn Jacobs' then crush on Jeff Hardy as leverage to rip the older Hardy away from his brother. The plan was simple: Get Matt to see that Jeff and Glenn were indeed an item and the brunette would then have no choice but to let go of the idea that he might be able to further his relationship with his younger brother. Sadly, all simple plans end in complexity, and Copeland's plan was no different. His trickery and deceit had run a muck, and soon got in the way of Jeff and Glenn when it ended up turning Glenn into a violent bad guy whom the younger Hardy quickly became very afraid of. Being overprotective, Matt kept Glenn at bay and in turn Adam, leaving the two to work on their own devices. Unable to at first comprehend why he ended up with more Copeland time rather than more Jeff Hardy time, Glenn soon caught the wind of understanding after figuring out who it was that had turned him into the monster everyone was running away from.

After that fact became known, the why behind it did little to extinguish Glenn's anger, and in just a few short months he went from gentle giant, to the giant arrow soaring down to hit the target that was Adam Copeland. The blond had topped Glenn Jacobs hate list. A position that did not change despite the passage of time.

"That wasn't very nice." The younger man replied with a devious smirk pasted across his lower face. "Now I'm not a rocket scientist, but by the looks of things, I don't think I have to be one to understand why exactly you would take the trouble to call me out to dinner at" He paused and glanced at his phone, sliding it back into his back pocket in the same breath, "ten thirty in the night." With both hands seated casually and clasped on the table top, he dropped his back into the well-cushioned spine of the chair in a relaxing motion. "Mark's staying with you isn't he."

Recognizing the blatant oratory behind the question, Glenn ignored it pointedly and moved right along. "Normally I wouldn't care to hear the reasons that compel you to do things Copeland, because quite frankly I know they're always sick and twisted. However," He drew in a deep breath of hot air. The ire hardened on his face with each passing second. Being in such close company with Adam Copeland – especially when it's self-made – was eating away at Glenn's being. "Mark's been wandering around in a shell for three days straight and I want to know why that is."

"He didn't tell you?" The blond raised a truly surprised eyebrow. "Wow. I expected him to tell _you _of all people especially since he came to you."

"He _didn't _come to me." Glenn spat, "I found him."

The dark blond eyebrow rose higher. "Where?" A cheeky smirk hit his face. "At our resident gambling house?"

Glenn narrowed his steely eyes before using his hand to drag away the rippling anger that threatened to melt the flesh off his bone. Once his hand came off his facial features, he spoke in a rather controlled tone. "What was Mark supposed to tell me?" His frown simmered away a bit. "What the hell did Phil do to him?"

Adam drew out an already long sigh, before laying his palms flat onto the table top. He dropped curtained blues onto the back of his face-down hands. "It went against my policy. You know," He threw up his eyes momentarily to Glenn, "taking secrets to the grave." Baby blues fell back onto the sleeping hands. "But I knew I had to do it." He sighed heavily and drew his palms towards one another sealing both hands together by interlocking the long fingers that stemmed out from them. "You see, Phil was heading down the same road I've basically built a house on. The kind of road you find yourself on once you start thinking that 'Hey, maybe I don't have to divulge into any truths because look what great things my lies are getting me.'"

"So what, you decided to stop him or something?"

"No. I did one better." Adam threw up a slightly thoughtless smile. "I paid dear Mark a visit and told him all of Phil's secrets." Glenn's jaw was the first to drain, followed by the blood in face. Regardless, Adam continued on. "I knew Phil had reached that rotten point of being comfortable in his own lying skin once he decided that it would be better to sleep with me if it meant keeping Mark in the dark. So, I resolved that it was time Calaway knew the truth about little Philly." Copeland heaved a practiced sigh. "The rest is basically history. I saw Mark, told him all he needed to hear and left a little bit rattled." Noting Glenn's prolonged silence, Copeland directed his eyes to the older man. "Rest assured Glenn, I left him in that apartment with Phil. He wasn't very happy, but he was there. Calaway leaving probably had something to do with Phil's inability to defend himself when his back's against the wall."

At first, he truly was speechless. Only a man filled with nothing but obliviousness would blatantly be able to miss what was eating Mark alive. Glenn Jacobs was no fool, and because of that he had been able to notice that the source of Mark Calaway's unexpected depression had to come from the man he himself saw as a comfort zone. For that reason alone, Glenn felt it slightly necessary to seek Phil out, however something told him to turn right and head for Adam Copeland. It was something resembling instinct. And like most times, his instinct was right.

"Let me get this straight," The words felt heavy – like sifting wet sand through a fine-pore strainer. "You went to Mark and told him about Phil? And your reason for doing that was all for some Good Samaritan act of saving Phil from a fate you know all too well?" Copeland nodded impartially. Glenn frowned. "You're a fucking idiot if you think I'll swallow that bag of lies."

Adam blinked heavily to the insult seeing that it was truly astonishing and delivered with incessant blatancy. "I guess since it's me it's hard to believe, but let me just inform you Glenn." He leaned a bit closer to the older man. "I fell for Phil. Now be it because he reminded me of Matt, or be it a case of true love, either way I began to care about what happens to Brooks outside of selfish gain. And so, I took the next logical step. I helped his relationship with Mark by getting rid of the elephant in the room."

"_Helped?"_ Glenn scoffed dryly. "Are you kidding me – let me explain something to you. Mark is in my hotel room right now peeling his eyes out at the ceiling. He hasn't eaten in the three days that he's been there and he probably will never at this point." The older man's tone hit gravel. "I've been subject to watching my brother fall into the lap of severe depression all because you decided to _'help' _his relationship with Phil." Jacobs shook his head slowly as though the act were a natural part of the upcoming sentence. "You haven't helped anything. There are just some things that Mark should never have known, and now here you are telling me that he knows more than his share. And you have the unmitigated gall to come up with some knight and unicorn reason as to why you said anything." A look of raw disgust nestled onto Glenn's hard expression. "This is a new low Adam. Even for scum like you."

Copeland chuckled lightly before laughing outright. He stopped almost as suddenly as he started before raking back his already neatened hair – causing the locks to form an overhang of sorts. "It's a good thing I don't live to please." He shook his head in a 'tsk-tsk' manner. "What would you rather me say Glenn? Huh? That I told Mark about Phil's past enrollment in the institute of prostitution all for the fun of it? T-That I told Mark that he had sex with Phil five years ago and doesn't remember it because he did it under the unknown influence of drugs, all for the sake of having the last, long laugh? You'd like that wouldn't you?" His smile dropped and the pubescence in his voice vanished for a more serious demeanor. "Well sorry to burst your fucking bubble Glenn. I regrettably had nothing to gain this time, because this time I put my balls on the table and went to Mark personally. And I did it, to your unfortunate knowledge, because I didn't want Phil to end up like me." His frown craved deeper into his forehead. "Now you don't have to believe me or any of this, and you can even call me a flat out liar, but when you sit there and insinuate that your brother's road to depression is all because he couldn't handle the truth that I chose to tell, well then..." Copeland threw his gaze downward and to his left before looking back to Glenn "I guess that just says a lot about Mark now doesn't it?"

The first feeling was definitely a primitive one. Leap across the small table and reshape the blond's face with a couple of hard rights aimed directly for his smug expression. However, be it the knowledge that came with age, or the natural ability to think before acting that seemed to follow Glenn Jacobs since childhood, the older man stilled his growing anger and held back on mangling Adam Copeland. After all, he reckoned, the younger man had dished out exactly what he had asked to know – with a bit of true Copeland flair tossed in – even if it was not exactly what he wanted to hear.

"Okay." Glenn spoke more to himself than to Adam. "Well, with this damage, I don't suppose I should even bother going to Phil."

"Why would you want to go to Phil?"

Jacobs stared at the man before sighing and dropping his gaze. "Who knows. Maybe I thought that I could convince him to get his head out of his ass and talk to Mark. Just come by the hotel and apologize, acknowledge his mistake and move on." He sighed dryly. "But what good would that do anyone at this juncture? Mark now knows exactly why he feels so weird around Phil. And then you go and tell him that Phil used to be a prostitute."

Copeland shrugged rather stiffly – as if putting any meaning behind the gesture would have surely run everything else off course. "It wouldn't do anyone any good if Mark didn't know the history behind Phil." He cocked a smile. "Who's to say that won't end up being what helps?"

Glenn stared at Adam for what seemed to be an eternity. The expression that made a mud house on his face mirrored a look that if typed would clearly read 'Are you serious?' in the most rhetoric form. "You really don't understand do you?" Copeland dropped his smile for a more confused look. "Mark isn't angry with Phil or with the fact that he got drugged up and slept with a former prostitute." Jacobs tone shed a bit of pain. "He's just disappointed in himself."

"Disappointed?" Copeland asked from a nearby distance. Perplexity resided heavily on his face. "Yeah." Jacobs thought for a second before continuing on. "I think he's had it with secrets."

* * *

Had this been a mere few years ago, this meeting would have been highly predictable and vastly common. Had this been a few years ago, this conversation would have been centered around Jeff Hardy, Adam Copeland and of course, Glenn Jacobs. And – had this been taking place a few years ago – the mention of the two latter men would have undoubtedly ignited a fire of rage inside the muscular being of Mark Calaway. However, as the battle scars of Adam Copeland finally closed and healed, Mark Calaway drifted away from the man he used to be. As such, his attachment to solitude made this meeting now a decidedly uncommon event. And to add, the topic of conversation now did not surround the aforementioned men. Instead, Matt Hardy chose to talk about the man that the older brunette had not seen in three days. Nevertheless – much like it would have had this been taking place a few years ago – the subject of conversation stirred up ire-like feelings inside Mark Calaway.

"I have to admit Mark," The older Hardy spoke as he took the offered glass of water from a sitting Mark Calaway, "I would never have thought you'd be in a hotel all this time." He dropped the liquid down his throat, halving the contents in one swallow. "Especially one that you'd have to share with Glenn."

Mark shrugged and leaned back into the chair. His eyes had yet to cease raking the floor.

Matt waited momentarily for a response from Calaway. After a few short seconds, the sound of glass hitting glass was what broke the silence. Mark looked up slightly – peering directly through his overhanging locks –and spotted the half empty glass of water now sitting atop the glass coffee table that sat in the center of the living area. After categorizing what the sound was, Calaway instantly refocused heavily lidded jades onto the floor below.

"Look Mark," Hardy spoke with a voice enshrouded in gravel and grit, "I don't know exactly what happened but I'm going to take a stab at it and say that Adam paid you a visit a few days ago."

Once again, Calaway shrugged. This time, however, the effort behind the motion was scraping zero.

Matt sighed emphatically. "I came here to apologize to you Mark. It was wrong of us – all of us –" He stressed on the word 'all' "– to keep you in the dark like that. And it was wrong of Phil to just claim you as his stray knowing that he had transgressed in such a big way."

Calaway scoffed lowly, catching Matt off guard. "So you know that I'm not just his roommate?"

The younger man took the time to decipher that the question – although having done its job by leaving room for an answer – was meant as a statement. Despite that knowledge, Matt replied. "Phil is a good guy Mark. I don't normally make it my business to go out and defend people. And I know full well that even you can't possibly understand why I'd be defending Phillip Brooks of all people when he and I aren't documented as being anything more than co-workers. However," Matt's face hardened with a "new-chapter" version of intense seriousness "I know that Phil's a good person. I also know that he's a coward whose way of handling his demons reflects Jeff's way of cleaning our house. He'll just lift the rug up and sweep the dirt under it. But he's a good person Mark." A frown began to eat away at Hardy's brow. "And he damn well doesn't deserve the kind of treatment that you're dishing out."

The older man sat with hands clasped tightly against each other. "Why are you here Matt?" His head stood bowed with heavy jades staring holes into the floor beneath. "Are you really here to apologize" He questioned the carpet "or are you here to convince me to go back to Phil?"

"I don't care about whether or not you choose to go back to him Mark." The younger man responded with deathly authority. "I just want you to put yourself in his shoes. Ask yourself what you would have done had the roles been reversed. And when you're done doing that," His voice went low once more "forgive him."

Words are stronger than swords. To the knuckle-baring, hit-first-ask-questions-later type of man that Mark Calaway was, the proverb meant little to nothing. The meaning behind the axiom went for even less to Mark Calaway seeing that he had heard it coming from the mouth of a man he once deemed to be nothing more than his sperm donor. However, just two simple words – the latter words in Matt Hardy's speech – drove a pain through Mark's steadily beating heart. It hit closer to home than the younger brunette could have ever imagined.

A long, deep sigh escaped the deepest bowels of Mark's large throat and served to heave his heavy shoulders – dropping them brusquely after the air left. Utilizing both hands, Mark raked the straying strands of curly dark hair, entrapping it down and back before lifting his head a bit suddenly to land surprisingly lightened jades onto the man who sat just a few centimeters away.

"Even though you're angry Mark," Matt cut into Mark's new found aura "you -"

Calaway intervened with clout. "I used to smile a lot more." Matt swallowed his would-be words. "I used to make time for friendships. I used to be the life of every conversation, every party imaginable. I used to be like your brother, Matt." Mark drew in a deep breath. "But that just wasn't enough. Being blatantly nice didn't make him trust me enough. So, after he died, I thought I'd give a shot towards being cold and distant. Just be the kind of guy who sits, and listens and watches without getting too involved." A pause. "Or too attached." He drew away the heaviness of his expression by dragging a large hand down his face. Matt's look of confusion had yet to flee his. "But that wasn't enough either was it." He threw his jades towards Matt's large mocha eyes. "No matter what I do, the people I care about will always think the worst of me. They will always think that it's better to hide and lie than to tell me the truth because I'm just a terrifying man with a violent temper who would hurt them if I knew what that truth was." Another deep sigh drew out from the depths of Mark's throat. "I'm not angry Matt. I'm just disappointed in the fact that Phil thought it was better to keep everything hidden from me even though it led to being blackmailed by Copeland into having se-" He bit his tongue and drew in another deep breath only to let it out soothingly. "Phil thought I was going to kill him once I found out about us. He looked me dead in the eye and told me that he was afraid. That he was afraid of me. And I don't even know why."

A small stream of history ran between both Mark Calaway and Matt Hardy. Unlike the stream that flowed between Glenn and Adam, no hate polluted the waters that drenched both the Dead Man and Matt Hardy. It was thanks to that diminutive storybook history that the younger brunette was able to fully understand what it was that had propelled Mark Calaway to become the unsocial – yet strangely friendly – notorious gambler that he was now widely known as. As it now turned out, Mark Calaway had yet to understand what it was that he had been carrying that kept people at bay. The situation greatly reminded Matt of the story of the green giant – a man who wouldn't hurt a fly yet was hated and feared by the villagers – and despite the sprouting sadness that encircled the current circumstance, the younger man cracked a knowing smile. It did not go unnoticed.

"What?" Mark asked irritated. A lifetime of not knowing when everyone else knew had taken its toll on the older man.

"You're a living breathing, near-seven-footer, sack of muscle. And you wonder _why_ people fear you?" Hardy threw a small chuckle. "I understand what you're going through Mark, but you really don't need a change of personality. You just need a change of body size."

"Are you telling me that Phil's scared of me because I'm a big guy?"

"_Big?"_ Matt scoffed. "That's an understatement. You're freaking colossal! You basically trump the biggest dinosaurs!" He exclaimed childishly.

Calaway strained to comprehend – a fact that weighed heavily on his face. Noting that he was leaving the older man in a realm of confusion, Matt dropped the pretenses and divulged into the meat of the matter.

"Mark, everybody fears the giant. It doesn't matter if he smiles and laughs or just sits there in silence; people will always fear that which they don't understand or know anything about." A juvenile smile landed on the lower half of Matt Hardy's face. "Now I can't speak for Phil here because quite frankly I find it rather difficult to believe that he's afraid of you. However, can you blame him?" Matt leaned a bit closer towards the older man who was now far beyond perplexed. "He doesn't know anything about you. You're living under his roof, getting him comfortable with your company, and yet you've told him zilch about yourself." A slight bit of understanding came into contact with Mark's jades. Matt took notice and sat back in the comfortable chair. "Quite honestly, I'd be scared shitless if I lived with someone who barely speaks but asks a lot of questions." He shrugged dramatically. "But again, I can't say the same for Phil."

It took a short while for Calaway to realize that Matt Hardy had picked up his half empty glass of water and was now in the uninteresting process of finishing it. During the time between Matt's final sentence and Mark's realization that the colourless liquid was currently being drained down the hollow tube embedded inside the younger brunette, Calaway's thoughts had taken an unprecedented stroll to parts of his mind that he once thought not to have existed. One such part was the section titled 'memory'.

There was never anything special about that night. In fact, the only thing it had held – and subsequently the only reason that Mark had kept it stored in his memory bank – was an overbearing feeling of regret. The 'I-wish-I-could-go-back- in-time-and-change-this' type of regret. There was a room with a smaller blond who was angry beyond repair. As if watching from a third person perspective, Mark saw himself – much younger than the now – shouting at the blond at the top of his lungs. Someone had hit the mute button on this memory because everyone was shouting with the veins in their necks tearing away at the thin fabric of skin, yet no sound could be heard. Just a few seconds into the highly vivid memory, Mark instantly picked up on what the blond was saying. And as if the remote had been found, the audio came back on at full blast.

"_Your life is like a bubble Mark! And there's no space in it for me!" _

When his mind returned from the scenario, and resettled in its original home, it found Matt Hardy in the process of finishing his water. And then being affixed with a shocked facial expression whilst staring at the screen of his once noisy phone.

"Oh crap." Matt stated from behind the luminous screen.

Mark snapped back to the present, knitting brows together in worry. "What? What happened?"

The younger man took a moment to stare at his phone's screen before dragging his eyes – wide beyond belief – to stare a bit sorrowfully at Mark. It forced a deeper frown on Calaway's aged brow.

"What happened?" He barked – now standing.

"It's Jeff." Matt scraped his throat as if raking sand. "He says Phil's at the bar drinking with a guy."

"He's wrong." Mark stated pointedly. "Phil doesn't drink"

"I know." Matt drew in a deep breath before turning his phone to face Mark. "But cameras don't lie."

There was no one in the snapshot that he instantly knew. Not the blond with the large, toothy smile and confident demeanor. And certainly not the short-haired brunette. However, after a few seconds, Mark's narrowed jades – narrowed to showcase concentration – popped open forcing his body to twist away and walk towards the room door. The rapid succession of actions took the younger man by surprise, leaving him to react in the most forthright way that he knew of; standing to his feet and planting a heavy hand onto Mark's retreating shoulder all in efforts to stop the older man.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked hastily.

Mark took a moment for no apparent reason before replying. "To that bar."

"What -" Matt heaved a theatrical sigh as he slowly shook his head at Mark. "Do you even have a way to get there?" Mark's back somehow expressed the obvious lack-of-plan that sat kingly on his face. "Do you even know where that bar is?"

"I know where that is." He stated monotonically. "It's where I met Phil." Heavy jades dropped to Matt from over the muscular rise of Mark's right shoulder. "And I was planning on walking there."

Mentally, the older Hardy slapped himself on the forehead. Physically, he settled for an expression of dramatic woe and disbelief. "You'd get there this time tomorrow morning." He drew out a set of keys from his back pocket. "But if you're willing to travel with me, then I'll get you there in five minutes."

Calaway thought for a second. "You're a bad driver." He stated matter-of-factually from a mile away.

"No." Matt strolled by the Dead Man, opening the door once he cleared the older man's massive frame. "I'm a fast driver." Utilizing both hands, he gestured for the brunette to step out first. "After you."

After taking a short while to analyze his non-existent options, Mark stormed past the younger man leaving him to secure the hotel room.


	15. The Break Even Point Of Basic Strategy

**Long time no see gentle readers :D**

* * *

There was something buried deep within the crevices of Phillip Brooks' mind. The technical term being 'forgotten memory'. Nonetheless, it was something the brunette repeatedly – throughout his life – tried to keep six feet under the dirt and rubble of his mindset. However, now in the grasp of pure, unaltered sleep –alien to the young brunette – the memory scratched away at its poorly built wooden coffin, and ate through the dirt, successfully breaking free of its burial site.

The moment it found freedom, it wasted little time in making its presence known to Phillip Brooks. The sound of laughter hit Brooks' ears without the slightest warning, and just like that, the young man was caught in the wispy grasp of the once buried dream.

Colorful lights shone through the hall that penciled out behind him. There was the slow echo of a holiday tune. It served to draw Phil out of the sitting position that he had taken onto the floor, and into the room filled with sparkling colored lights. The question of what this was answered itself the moment half-asleep cerulean eyes caught a full glance of a nearby tree decked out with shiny, round gold ornaments, and wrapped with the lights responsible for all the color in the room. Another fit of laughter caught his ears and spun his body a full one hundred and eighty degrees.

The fact that he felt sleepy. The fact that he was suddenly in his teenage body. The fact that this whole Christmas occasion was all just a wish he had once conjured up, but never got the pleasure of seeing come true. None of the three aforementioned served to tell Phillip Brooks that he was indeed dreaming quite like their fourth member – the sight of his father walking.

The memory began to contort the second the brunette was awoken to the realization that he was dreaming. That the homey feeling of comfort and relax was nothing more than a cruel tune sang up by a buried memory. All this made it possible for Phil to wring himself out of those tender tugs of deep sleep, and as if suddenly pulled out from the suction of violent currents, Phil instantly woke up. The horrid memory fled in an instant, clambering down a dark hole and returned to the grave it once rose from – making recollection by its target near impossible.

Instinctively, or more so naturally, one eye popped open a nano-second before the other. However, the sting of a bright light, clothed in nothing but chaste white, shot his eyes back behind their respective fleshy curtains. His brow pushed downward whilst the folds of his nose moved slightly up to meet at the apex of its bridge, forming a pained scowl that branded itself onto his face. Determined not to get stung again, Phil kept his eyes closed as he fished around – with one arm outstretched and the other arm currently having trouble locating the strength needed to push his upper body up off where he now laid – for something to use as an aid to standing. No such object presented itself to him, so with a quick push forward, Phil leapt to the darkness only to crash and burn.

The first thing to hit the floor below was his head. The rest of his body came tumbling down afterwords. As if just registering something that had always been there, a sharp pain – intensified by one hundred thanks to the fall – shot through his body, by-passing every other outlet, and quickly landed onto its target: His brain. For starters, there was the onslaught of immense throbbing beneath the thin barrier of skin that separated his skull from the outside world. Then, right on unbeknown queue, his head grew ten times in weight causing him to tightly clutch both sides in a desperate attempt to stop it from suddenly growing. The pain only intensified the longer he bit against it, and soon traveled down to the rest of his lagging body parts, rendering his entire being to feel as though it had gone through at least ten back-to-back extreme rules matches in the last hour.

There were not enough words in the dictionary for Phil to use to describe to himself what exactly he was feeling. After what seemed to later be an eternity of holding his head and cradling into the fetal position, the pain finally gave and subsided. Brooks took the moment to draw in a few raspy breaths – that tasted like raw fish – before bracing himself for the next round of pain that was to come in the form of that damned light.

Gingerly. That was how Phillip Brooks chose to open his eyes. The light of course struck with a vengeance, however it soon became bearable – as long as Brooks kept his Clint Eastwood scowl intact – allowing the young man to get a better look at where exactly he was. For starters, he was sitting on a wooden floor. Beside him sat a sea of fallen, disheveled rich auburn bedding that clung desperately onto the raised mattress sitting just a few centimeters away. /A...bed?/ Those two words brought on a slap of pain to his head, but it didn't last long enough for Brooks to register it. He slowly swiveled his head to its farthest – without actually turning his body – to get a better view of the area. Four walls stood painted in a light taupe color (that looked white under the glare of the light that emanated from a poorly curtained window) with one wall housing a large, black TV; a large closet took command of another entire wall and donned a full length mirror on its right door; the large bed – that sat kingly behind him – faced the closed room door with a small angle to spare; and a half-open door directly ahead showcased parts of a bachelor bathroom. Everything reeked of familiar. However the longer Phil stayed on the topic of gathering his surroundings, the deeper the pain drilled into his skull.

With that, the young brunette decided to look at the blank hardwood floor with his scowl now turned about to resemble his confused mindset. /Wait a second.../ He heaved a few low, but heavy breaths as his heart rate went up a few notches. /Wasn't I in a bar?/ The ease at which the memory came to him – despite everything else seeming so far away – was shocking to say the least. In the time it took Phillip Brooks to haul a breath he was able to fully recall the past events in full, and vivid detail. It was like watching a movie you didn't even know you starred in.

First there was the argument, followed swiftly by the sight of Mark Calaway walking away. Why the older man left was another question that answered itself in a short span of time. /That's right.../ He paused to allow a wave of sudden sorrow to crash down on him. /Adam came by./ Immediately after that woeful thought came the fast-forwarded recollection of him sitting at a bar table staring at that sickly yellowish liquid that just stoically stared back at him. /I was drinking!/ His body instantaneously cramped forward in a sharp downward motion. Luckily his arms acted as they should and held the falling body upright. The feel of a slimy ball clambering up his throat only to sit there upon arriving instantly came about forcing him to heave a dry gag. /Oh God...!/ His eyes bulged out a bit past their limits once another gag shot out of his throat. /I was drinking!/ After a few deep, soothing breaths, the sickly feeling went away, and soon strength was back on his side. As he stood to his feet – using the edge of the now exposed bed to almost fully aid him – his mind wavered over a few random flashes of incomplete memory. The blond hair. The salesman smile. The stench of Calvin Klein. /Who the hell was he?/ Phil tried in earnest to catch the name that echoed out of the blond's mouth. He failed to net it. /Damn it! Who was he?/ His legs wobbled a bit as though they belonged to a newborn trying to walk, however he was finally able to stand. Sadly though, a victory dance was not in effect as the weight of his still pounding head crashed down on his lithe body sending it downwards onto the soft mattress. Once again, Phil had to grab the sides of his head and crouch like a child trying to drown out horrible sounds in an attempt to pretend that it was all just a nightmare.

Unlike the first time that he had caved into the pain, the feel of raw fabric scratching away at his fingertips now registered. Phil soon drew himself out of the ball, and focused his energy on turning towards the mirror that he now knew was sitting a short distance away. The headache continued to gnaw away at Phil's pain threshold, forcing the man to keep an unsteady hand on the left side of his head. Once finally turned, Brooks was able to see what his fingertips had known all along. His entire forehead was wrapped in white bandages leaving his short black hair to square off into a buzz-cut tuft atop his head. /What the hell?/ The pain gave way to a new-found confusion, allowing Phillip to stand to his feet, and almost gollum-like, walk over to the mirror. /What? How did I –?/ He thought frantically. Blue eyes glanced at the top of his forehead to see a small stain of light red pooled onto the bandages. It sent the young brunette into a panic. /How the hell did this happen? What – Where –!/ He turned again for no sensible reason and as suddenly as the panic came, it ended. /Isn't this.../ His eyes surveyed the landscape through a pair of cleared lenses allowing him to conclude one fact – /This is my room./ A light of understanding flashed across his glassy cerulean eyes. /Then I'm in my apartment!/ He noted before – barely – sprinting over to the room door and swinging it open /Then that guy –/

"You're finally awake." A voice came from behind the parting wall digging into his thoughts.

It sent a jolt of emergency through the already pained body of Phillip Brooks. Despite the part of him that wanted to see who it was that had just spoke, the part that anchored him to the ground won the battle of dominance and froze him in his tracks. A few weighty footsteps echoed off the now amplified eardrums of Phillip Brooks. /He's coming!/ A barrage of thoughts shot through his head – the first and most prominent one being to defend himself from the stranger he undoubtedly would have carried home. Without allowing another second to pass by, the brunette shot back into the room scrounging for something heavy, blunt – and most importantly – deadly.

The silver lining came in his bedside lamp.

"Phil -" The sudden appearance of a square silver object prompted the large man to instantly duck. He came back up with veteran retaliation and in the blink of an eye, seized his attacker.

Brooks took the moment to get a good look at the man he was about to hit. "M-Mark?"

"What the hell Phil?" Calaway roared from a close range. He had the younger man pasted to his chest with both arms tangled away from his body as if setting up to do a ballroom waltz. "What the hell were you—" His shock wore off the second he registered Phillip Brooks face. The smaller man looked sympathetically relieved. Mark slid his eyes over to what it was Brooks held in his hands. "A lamp?" He asked with an air of 'you-can't-be-serious'. Jades landed rigidly onto Phil – who was now trying to hide his reddened face –as Calaway let out a small sigh. "Come on" He released his hold on the younger man. "I bought pizza."

* * *

"Is Phil alright?"

The mall was the last place many wrestlers visited, however after allowing himself to fall victim to his brother's whims, Matt Hardy now found himself at one of the city's mall removing money from his card all for the sake of making his younger sibling smile.

"Matty, answer me!" The whining voice chimed in once again, causing the older brunette to momentarily lose focus. "Come on!" The younger man – hair now short, caught in a ponytail, and dyed bright pink – shot his face into Matt's peripheral vision in a desperate attempt to garner the attention that he had been lacking for a total of two minutes. "Is Phil okay?"

Matt – focus now back on his side – rolled his dark brown eyes to his brother's inquiry before sliding his card down through the thin magnetic-reader. He slowly punched in the numbers showcasing the intention to blatantly ignore his other half. Not one to read obvious hints, Jeff grabbed his brother by the shoulder and forced the brunette to land bored eyes squarely on his agitated expression. It brought a coy smile to the older Hardy' face.

"Don't smile at me!" Jeff harped in a raised voice, causing his surroundings to take note of him. Matt shot most of them his infamous glare forcing the lingering eyes to look away. "Tell me what happened to Phil!" The oblivious one whined childishly.

Matt heaved a deep sigh before turning his attention back to the debit machine. He yanked his money out and turned on his heels with his brother in tow. After just a few seconds, Jeff decided to stop and made it known that he had by loudly clearing his throat and planting his leading foot squarely onto the tiles below. The echoing sound of heel hitting concrete – or be it thanks to Matt's sixth sense that detected whenever he was Jeff-less – the older man looked over his shoulder only to heave yet another sigh upon realizing that Jeff was not going to quit his tantrum anytime soon. /Why did I say anything?/ He looked around and spotted a nearby seat.

"Let's sit over there." His neck flung his head in 'there's general direction. Jeff – pouting and reluctant at first – followed. Both men took a seat across from each other. "Okay." Matt started, "For the thousandth time... I got your message, I showed it to Mark, and then drove him to the bar."

Jeff waited momentarily – arms still locked across his chest – before throwing his brother a less-than-inviting expression. "And?" He pried, "What happened next?"

Matt sighed again whilst dragging a hand down his face to rid his expression of its hardiness. "Like I said, I don't know." His once placid expression turned to a tune of slightly annoyed. "I dropped Mark off and asked if he wanted me to wait till he returned. But then the guy just stares daggers through me, tells me to go home, and then walks away into the night."

"And you left him?" Jeff dropped his hands onto the small table below – slightly shifting it on its singular leg "Are you serious? Do you even know if he got back to the apartment?"

"Jeff, calm—" Matt etched in his one word only to have his brother slice him open.

"Do you even know if he went and got Phil? What if Phil's still out there? What if he's drunk and shacked up with some weird guy who likes to tie people up and do weird things and –"

"Jeff!" Matt slammed the table as he stood upright and glared down harshly at his brother. After a few silent seconds, he took hold of his seat allowing the rage to subside. "Will you please not give me strange images?" He drew in a calming breath. "Phil's fine. Mark's not the kind of guy to see someone in danger and _not_ help. Alright?"

Jeff nodded emphatically, before knitting his brow in worry. "But what if Phil didn't look like he was in danger because that weird guy he was with had magic powers and put some spell on him –" The sound of Matt laughing stopped Jeff in his tracks. He threw up a sad smile, dropping it for a matured look of concern once Matt's eyes fell on him. "What if Phil just pushed Mark away again?"

"H-Huh?" Matt asked from a distance. /Does he know about the situation?/ "How did you –"

"He did it before." Jeff spoke to the table top. "He always puts himself into a shell when he decides it's time to give up."

The older Hardy, in all honesty, was unable to decipher whether or not what his brother was saying had any sort of truth to it – seeing that it was not he who had at one point spent two months in the real world with CM Punk as his guide. However, the current situation had shown Matt a bit of the side of Phillip Brooks that had subtly characterized the man for decades. And that was his cowardice. Not the kind of cowardice that saw Phillip abandoning people at the first sign of trouble. Rather, it was the kind of fear that saw Brooks – on varied occasions – removing himself from the equation via self-sacrifice all for the betterment of the situation. It was that kind of cowardice – that would merit a Medal Of Honor had it not been cowardice in the first place – that served to characterize Phillip Brooks. And it was the only piece of information that gave Matt Hardy the ability to understand what his brother was alluding to.

"Don't worry so much about Phil, Jeff. He's a grown man." The younger Hardy looked up at his brother with an expression that could melt stone. "Trust me, nothing bad is gonna happen to him. Al –"

"Matt?" Jeff asked his brother's now distant stare. Following Matt's line of sight, Jeff turned around to spot Adam Copeland sitting in the near distance. His back was turned completely to both men, but having worked with Adam for over a decade, it was not hard for the 'pink-haired' blond to recognize the man. Noting the older man's presence, Jeff returned his eyes to Matt. "Do you want to go and talk to him?" When Matt didn't respond, Jeff continued. "He might know if Phil's okay."

Matt continued to stare intently at the back profile of Adam Copeland. His frown was present, but not deep enough to be classified as a show of anger. Rather he seemed perplexed by the sight of the Ultimate Opportunist; because it was as if he had run away to this mall to escape said man only to see him seated a few steps away.

Jeff flicked his attention back to Copeland before throwing a kinder version to his brother. "I think you should go talk to him Matt." The younger man rest a gentle touch onto his brother's exposed bicep. It drew Matt's eyes down to him. "He looks lonely."

Finally registering his brother's face, Matt quickly disregarded the multiple disparaging thoughts that had suddenly swamped his mind upon spotting Adam Copeland. "No." He answered bluntly– unsure of the question. "It's fine. Don't worry about it." He gave Jeff a lying smile. The younger Hardy shot his own childish version in a show of taking the bait. In that instant, Matt stood to his feet. "Let's go."

* * *

There were numerous things that were completely, undoubtedly, and utterly wrong with the current scenario. First – and most importantly – Mark Calaway was sitting beside him, in his couch, eating a gigantic slice of pizza and drowning it with a few shots of Pepsi. Second – and very close to the prominent one on the list of wrongs – was the fact that he was donning a large white bandage that now threatened to cut off all circulation to his pain-eased brain, and still had no clue as to why. And third – a place nowhere near the first – was the fact that him sitting beside a happily eating Mark Calaway, donning a large white bandage for no possible earthly reason, and watching a low-volume sitcom of sorts on the TV made him beg the question of whether or not he truly had been living the last couple of days. The comfort level of the situation was borderline menacing. And it was threatening to strangle Phillip Brooks.

Overcome with the frantic need for an answer and a way out of the current ominous scenario, Phil turned to Mark – whose attention was solely on either the random people on the television, the pizza, or the soda – but held his tongue. /What the hell do I say?/ He bit down on his lower lip once his eyes landed on the pizza that had been sitting in the plate on his lap for who-knew-how-long. /Maybe I should start by apologizing. Say something like 'I'm really sorry about everything and I hope that in time you can forgive me' –/ He shook his head rapidly, throwing a frown to the now possibly cold pizza slice. /That's too damn lame. Maybe I should just cut through the bush and ask him what the hell happened to me!/ After revising the thought, Phil nodded his approval and returned his gaze to Mark, only to be silenced yet again by the sight of Mark's heavy jades peering down at him. Phil glanced to the television to notice that it was now in the off position – that would beg the immediate question of when exactly it had been shut off, but knowingly would have garnered no possible answer at the moment. His cerulean eyes shot back to Mark.

After a few lingering seconds of uncomfortable silence, Phil opened his mouth. "M-Mark I...um... –" The would-be words – unbeknown to Phil – curled up into a ball and plummeted to the acidic pits of his empty stomach.

"You should eat." Mark's voice sieved through gravel. "Alcohol has a nasty way of making you feel full when your body's starving."

Once the sheer, unchained joy of having Mark speak to him had run its course inside his mind, Phil found a vocabulary. "I-It's okay." His voice echoed at a weaker tone than the one he had imagined. "I'm uh..." He placed the plate down onto the table. "I'm not that hungry." A shy smile crept up on his face only to fade away like a shadow in the night once his blue eyes hit Mark's blank face. A period of hesitation overcame Phil, however a mental jolt gave him the courage he so desperately required at the moment. "Um..." He swallowed a lump of air. "W-Why are you..." His face sold blatant confusion. "Why are you... here?" The latter word came two steps behind the former set.

Mark did nothing to ease the pressure his stoic expression and hardened jades were exerting onto the situation. Instead he continued to unblinkingly stare down Phillip Brooks' with hawk-like aptitude. He waited for a long moment of silence to dig it's talons into their surrounding air before finally deciding to speak.

"I don't have anywhere else to go."

"Oh." Phil spoke in false relief. His eyes shifting back to the cold slice of pizza. "Then I suppose you were just out on the streets for three days huh."

His throat began to clog itself and a stinging feeling – similar to that damned white light – suddenly hit his eyes. Tears were coming. /No! No way am I crying!/ In the instant that he had taken note of the onslaught, Phil acted by drawing in unnecessary air through his nose and lifting his head to the ceiling so as to force the probable water works back down their pipes. Once he was sure that the threat was deceased, the younger man threw his gaze back to the situation below.

Mark's heavy scoff brought Phil's eyes back to him. This time however, they met the sight of Mark Calaway leaned slightly forward, with elbows and forearms on bent, separated knees and those overcast jades staring down at nothing in particular.

"You're right." He started – causing Phil to scrounge his brain so as to recall what exactly it was he was right about. "I didn't stay on the streets. I stayed with Glen." Brooks felt his heart slightly drop as Mark heaved a light-weight sigh. "But when I say I have nowhere else to go" His still hard expression turned to face Phil. "I mean that there is nowhere else I'd rather be than here with –" Calaway stayed his tongue forcefully dragging out the longing in Phil's eyes. The next word in line would have indubitably come right then, however, the older man simply wavered it by sliding his gaze back to the table.

The anti-climatic mood that dumped itself onto Phil left the man feeling hopelessly empty. It took him a few minutes of staring down the un-bitten pizza, before finally relocating the valor to take command of the conversation.

"So," He started as casually as possible – given the fact that he had not seen the older man in days, and was now suddenly thrown back into his company after all the dirty laundry had been laid out in plain view – clearing his throat when the words threatened to abandon ship. "Um...well...I " He ran his fingers across his forehead in thought; however the feel of the harsh fabric threw him a bone. "Uh," He turned to Mark, "about this bandage..." Calaway drew himself out of his thoughts and leaned back with eyes now back on Phil. "H-How did I end up with this?"

Mark frowned a bit. "You don't remember?" Brooks shook his head. "I punched you and on the way down, you scraped your head against the edge of the metal bar stool."

The blasé tone embedded deep in the huskiness of Mark's voice threw Phil even further than the actual 'I punched you' line did. "Y-You?" Phil sold total confusion on every expressive outlet. "You hit me...and I knocked out?"

"Yes." Again, the older man held close to a matter-of-factly tone. The arrogance struck Phil deep as he tried in earnest to regain some form of composure that did not give way to his current thoughts. "It's the truth Phil. I knocked you out." Those words told him that he had failed.

/M-Mark hit me?/ Phil creased his brow in confusion while glaring at the large cushion that separated himself from the older man. /Mark wouldn't...he couldn't.../ His mind – formerly having the ability to retain information at the snap of a finger – could not locate, in any hidden crevice, the sight of Mark's large fist coming down on him. /No way. There's no way he'd—/

Calaway cut into Phil's train-wreck thoughts. "Aren't you angry?"

Phil shot his bewildered expression up to Mark. Words once again fled the younger man prompting zero response. On one hand, he was angry. After all, Mark had hit him. Conversely though, on the other hand, _Mark_ had hit him. And there was sadly a part of him that truly believed that he deserved it.

"You're not angry." A statement based solely on fact and rightfully delivered with that knowledge.

Despite being literally read, Phil remained silent as though his lips had suddenly been chain-linked and padlocked together with no key in sight for miles.

A malevolent look –an utterly horrifying contrast against the man's stern expression –rapidly crossed Mark's face as he turned his entire body completely to Phil. "You won't get angry even though I hit you." He shifted closer to the now mute man –who was frozen between the blocks of ice labeled confusion and fear – with one arm edging the top of the sofa, and the other gently running in an upwards motion against the jeans covered leg of Phil's pants. The action stiffened Brooks to the point of no return. "I could do anything to you, and you won't ever get angry at me." He dropped the gruffness in his tone to an all time low so as to make way for a soul-piercing stare down that vehemently locked Phil's widened eyes with his cold jades. "I could hit you again, and you wouldn't hit back." His moving hand stopped mid-thigh and tightened its hold on Phil's clothed quads, causing the younger man to catch an audible breath. "I could even take you down right here, and do whatever I wanted..." He paused to survey Phil's scared expression "...and no matter how much it would hurt, you would never even think of fighting back." After allowing his hand to choke Phil's small thigh for a lengthy period of unknown time, Mark released his hold but remained in close proximity. "I think I finally understand why you thought I was the bad guy." Once again, Mark waited again. This time his expression softened to silently tell the fear-enveloped man that he could speak at anytime. When Phil held back, Mark shifted away a bit and let out a small sigh.

A thick cloud of silence took the time to encamp itself subtly around the two men. Through its peering optics a view of Mark Calaway was spotted. The man was now sitting just a –bent – arm's length away Phillip Brooks yet somehow the distance seemed to be much further, and deeper, than that. For the younger brunette in the room, the distance was exactly that. Never in any lifetime – or any Fantasy Mark episodes – did Phillip Brooks dream that Mark Calaway could be so frightening. Sure the man had massive size as intimidation, and a stare that could freeze the sun mid-orbit; however, having the older man so close to him just a few moments ago gazing into his very soul, only to see him so naturally withdraw and quickly recoil that cryptic attitude in the same breath posed a different kind of intimidation that Phil never knew to exist in the older brunette. And it forced Brooks to beg the question of what truly made up Mark Calaway.

"I had a friend once." Mark's voice dragged itself through a thick sea of gravel, forcing the cloud of silence out of observation mode and driving it away in a less than subtle manner. His eyes lifted to meet Phil's new found look of focus. It had taken the younger man a while to finally get off the terror-train, stopping at their current situation. "He was a lot like you. His name was BJ..." A heavy scoff scrawled up the fleshy interior of Mark's throat – successfully eating the end sound of the letter _J_. "Brian. His name was Brian Kendrick Jr."


	16. Action For The Active Player

**I am on a ROLL! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!**_

* * *

Gentle music played from speakers embedded in hidden places and the sound of delicate chatter coupled with a few ruckus outbursts here and there chimed in often to make up the charm of the room. _

"_BJ?" Confusion laced his tongue. _

"_Brian Kendrick Jr." He coughed up a small crack across his lower face. "He was two years older than Mark was, but that never stopped Mark from treating BJ like he was a younger brother." He dropped the small smile once the unseen memory faded and stared deadpan at the blond sitting ahead. "I don't think I should even be telling you this, but it's the only way I know of that will slap that stupid 'I-was-just-doing-a-good-deed' mind-set of yours right out of your skull."_

_The blond gave a blunt look of agitation –that did not last as long as the time it would take to say the word 'agitation' –before throwing the larger man an irritating grin. "I don't like being left undone, Jacobs. So continue. I promise I'll listen."_

_Glenn took a short time to evaluate his situation before letting his harsh stare dwindle down a few notches on the intensity meter. "Brian was like the sun in my brother's universe. No..." He paused to rephrase – catching Copeland off guard. "He was Mark's universe." A bit of thought trapped him for a second, and his mouth even parted unconsciously to speak, however Glenn caught the action red-handed and immediately drew himself to the situation. "There was nothing Mark didn't do that wasn't for the sake of Brian. BJ would anger a lot of bad people even if he didn't want to and Mark would then always get into massive fights with them just to protect Brian. I remember the days when my brother would come home with broken ribs, blood draining from every open pore on his body, and deep bruises scarring his skin only to tell me, off-handily, that it was just another fight with some of Brian's tormentors." He sighed a bit as his eyes continued to rake his gently interlocked fingers that sat squarely on the table-top. "There was just something about that guy that made Mark and everyone else just want to step up and be his hero." A sarcastic scuff exited Glenn's mouth as he glanced up at Copeland – whose smile had long since receded after being paid no attention to. "It's not like he needed the protection though, because Brian was a fighter... but..." He trailed and so did his baby blues. "Years passed and then Brian turned eighteen. He lived a short walk away from us, so Mark decided to go pay him a surprise visit. And then he saw it."_

_The word clung heavily to Copeland's expression as the look of 'need-to-know' plastered blatantly across his face. _

_Glenn drew out another sigh before continuing. It was getting harder and harder for the man to draw himself out of the vivid memories and back into the reality that had himself, a dining hall, and a listening Adam Copeland. "He came back home that day with hurt stamped all over him. It didn't take him long to tell me what happened, and to this day I can't understand why I thought it was smart to tell him that I had already known." He slowly shook his head – stopping once his brow shot up in folds of skin, and then fell just as dramatically. "A few months passed, and soon the situation at home escalated to seeing Mark walk out on us. He apparently took Brian with him because his folks called asking where he was." _

"_So" Adam croaked lowly –his eyebrows sewn into web of uneasiness. "W-What happened after that?"_

"_After that?" Glenn threw up his eyes. The stare less penetrating and more sympathetic. "After that." He stated behind a look of hollowness that intensified once his eyes slowly sank down to a slight angle. "After that...I found Mark a few years later. But it wasn't the same Mark that had left us at home. The Mark I had found was cold, and distant. He was just..." The older man searched beneath the curtains of his lids for a bridge to his sentence gap. "Empty." He spat in a distasteful tone. "Just empty and lost." A dry sigh heaved out into the open as Glenn drew a large hand down the length of his face. His focus now entirely on the blonde sitting ahead. "I found out why shortly after. Brian had died just three months into their travelling together. A fight of some sorts had occurred and Mark turned his back on BJ, only to go back and find his best friend gone."A wave of iciness washed over Glenn's tone. "I don't expect you to show any pity for sob stories like this Adam, and I honestly don't expect you to understand why Brian's life and death are reasons enough for you to regret what you've done here" He paused to let his change of mood sink into Copeland. "However, I do want you to know that messing with the mind of someone living in the shadow of guilt, by turning his perfect world upside down with the truth, is not something out of the pages of a Good Samaritan. It is an act of ignorance." His glare returned. "And that ignorance is going to cost you one day Copeland. If you think karma has it out for you now... just wait until she gets her hands on the wheel." _

_The younger blond took a few minutes to filter and file all the information that he had just been subject to. When Glenn's final sentence at last reached Adam's thought process, he felt a cold chill clamber down his spine.

* * *

_

Jaw-dropped was truly the understatement of its century. At the moment, Phillip Brooks looked more than jaw-dropped. He was simply frozen in the capsule of complete and utter shock. Mark's words seemed to tangle and twine the deeper and harsher his story got, until finally they sprung out sharpened claws and twisted new found barbed hands around the situation's neck. By comparison, Mark's story was simply a case of a homosexual living with a heterosexual best friend who stayed in the house of possible denial, acted on selfish reasoning, but then in the end, still found it understandably hard to cope. Thus pushing away the person he loved more than anything else.

Brooks understood the concept of guilt and he knew for sure what kind of guilt shadowed Mark Calaway. The only separating difference – aside from the obvious – was the topic of consequence. Mark's guilt drained him of any and all will to live, but at the same time trapped him in the world he hated by being the reason why he kept his heart beating. Comparatively, the younger man's guilt did not grow to that juncture. Instead it grew to frighteningly impossible heights, which saw the brunette disregard himself in order to save himself. Guilt was a hamster wheel of torment, and now with all cards laid on the table and one last dice left to roll, ironically it was that torturous guilt that wove both men together making their odds in this final gamble a lot higher than first hoped.

"I turned my back on him when he dug out the truth. And... now he's gone." Calaway spoke dryly breaking the moment of pause. "I could go and easily tell myself that I stole his chances at happiness by leading him on for so long only to drop him off at the grave. It's what I always did whenever the idea of moving on crossed my mind. It even got so bad to the point where I sentenced myself to a life of seclusion, and slapped the title 'policy' onto it." He stopped for a second with brows drawn together in close quarters to form a thoughtful frown. "But then..." He sighed for a bit before drawing sunken jades to Phil's face, and keeping silent for a moment longer just so he could take in the sight of the younger man. "I turned my back on you." Phil felt his breath hit sharply hit a speed bump. "When I learned that you knew about me – about the man I tried to bury – I slid back into that shell. I didn't want you to know what I was truly like because I knew that if you did, then I wouldn't be able to stay away anymore." His voice hit a low fall. "But then you did know. So I took to the road and left. And it's the worst thing I ever did." His face held close to sympathy as he drew up a nearby hand to plant it gently on the far side of Phil's face. "I don't want to keep living with guilt Phil. I want to move on. I want to live out my life knowing that I made the right choice—and you are the right choice."

"The right choice?" Brooks –who had not uttered a word for the past few minutes – finally found his sense of presence. "Mark," He spoke staidly, "I'm not."

There was a mental slap of 'what the hell are you doing?' followed by the loud, and angry shouts of 'shut up and just get with him already you fucking prissy!' that garnered Phil's short-lived attention. However, once he nudged himself out of Mark's loving touch to just stare at his cold pizza – highlighting the futility of any and all rebellion – the voices stopped talking.

"What?" Mark asked almost distantly. His expression changing rapidly from sympathetic and tender to just plain dumbfounded. "What are you—?"

"Don't you get it?" Phil viciously cut in as his voice rose rapidly enough to slap shock onto Mark's face. His eyes lit up dangerously with deep-wounded fury as he all but glared back at Calaway. "I drugged you and took advantage of you and left you in the armpit of nowhere at a time when you were holding true to that policy of yours! I forced myself into your life only to screw it up to the point where you now think that being with me is the best decision! It's fucking not Mark!" His voice grew to a new level of hysteria.

Being drawn into the sense of urgency that injected itself into the conversation, Mark responded rigidly in an effort to calm the younger man. "I get that Phil, but you were just at your wits end and you saw an opportunity and you decided to take it. It's okay, I understand."

"An opportunity? Are you fucking kidding—?" He stood to his feet with authority. "There were a million different ways I could think of to use to get you, but I chose the lowest one! I chose... I chose fucking date rape!" He spat harshly.

After now spotting that his attempts had failed, Mark silenced himself and opted to watch and listen.

Despite the eerie quiet that suddenly befell the room, Phil continued on unfazed. "I had sex with you Mark and you didn't even know what was going on! You can't just be unaffected by that!" The anger soon took an ugly turn downwards to a fit of streaming, unfelt tears that rolled down his face without recognition from the owner. "You can't just sit there and tell me that you're just fine and dandy with the knowledge that you slept with a prostitute! You can't be okay with the fact that your promise to a dear friend was just torn open and ripped to shreds by these—" He placed both hands outward as if in motion to beg, with fingers curled tightly to their mid-sections "—dirty, filthy hands!" Phil's voice screeched almost high-pitched. "You can't just accept the fact that I made you my fucking _pet_ even after all of that!" The fact that he was now weeping his eyes out – and that the painful headache was now cooking on all cylinders – had yet to register consciously to Phil. However, his body reacted on a subconscious permission. "You can't just..." He drew in a few breaths that forced the tears to slow. "You can't just say things like that when you know I'm nothing more than damaged goods." His voice slowed and rode the coattails of a whisper. "It's just not right."

Mark sat and watched as Phil quietly tried in earnest to drown his sobs so as to seem somewhat cemented in his point, but the hiccupped breathing and the soft whimpers that caved through showcased that the younger man was truly close to his breaking point. The entire situation – unbeknown to Calaway –threw Phil out of his equilibrium of otherwise depressing hopes, and so saw the man now ranting in an effort to right the so-called wrong.

"Not right?" The question came out as more of a strong statement with no room for argument as Mark stood to his feet –gently flicking back the escapee strands of curly black hair to join with the others behind the hairline – with heavy jades drilling holes into the distraught being of Phillip Brooks. "I told you before Phil that I can't judge you for past. And now you know why. However," A stain of hurt splotched over the hard expression of Mark Calaway. "If you still feel that I can, then sleep here—" He pointed almost unmoving to the empty couch below "—tonight and every other night until our three months is up." He lifted his head slightly upward so as to drop piercing emerald eyes onto the man standing mere inches away. "But if you feel otherwise, then you can come and join me, in that bed, tonight." A pause ensued. "And every other night after that." He walked over to the smaller man – who in the time span had now ceased crying – and held out a hand after delivering a long and unnerving stare down. "Deal?"

Phil thought for a second, however when nothing but blank waves passed through his head, the younger man took the offered hand and shook it. The word 'deal' was on his tongue, but he bit down on it afraid of the repercussions. Unlike Calaway, Phillip Brooks learned from his gambling mistakes and tried his best not to repeat them. Instead, the younger man opted to nod sharply – but not too sharp seeing as his head was now the weight of a baby elephant that happened to also be bouncing on his skull with its entire herd in tow – as a form of agreement. The act brought no change to Calaway's expression, as the man simply released his grip, picked up the dishes and disposed of them in the kitchen nearby.

Maybe it was the sound of the bedroom door closing, or maybe it was the fact that behind that closed door lay a willing and waiting Mark Calaway that alerted Phil to the fact that he had currently – and quite royally – screwed himself.

* * *

By the time the Hardy's left the 'insert-high-number-here' store, the sky was on fire – a sight that was easily viewed thanks to the glass roof that hung meters above Matt Hardy's head. Bright burnt orange colours mixed with the vivid form of the same colour painted the otherwise blue sky in the image of a forest fire in its prime. A few sweeps of bright pink and red seemed to come from nowhere and taint the hanging clouds that were heavily drifting away into the coming night.

For what seemed like a lifelong eternity – quite possibly multiplied by the number two – Matt Hardy, with credit card in tow, was dragged around the large city mall by his over-enthusiastic brother Jeff Hardy. The younger Hardy was the typical and intensified version, of the shopper-holic. The (pink-haired) blond was easily drawn into the most blatant cons, the false sales, and any item that looked genuinely shiny – in other words, items that looked interesting to the eye of Jeff: meaning everything. Thankfully, the older Hardy had located – out of sheer desperation – a rest stop in the "middle of the mall". Using his salesman approach, the older man successfully convinced his brother to simply take the card with him and meet him back at the large rest stop when all was said and done. Reluctant at first – simply because he was whipped and thus did not like going anywhere without Matt – Jeff warmed up to the idea on the promise of getting full run of the hotel room's TV once they went back. And with that, Matt was left to rest unchained and bask in the beautiful sight of the on-coming night.

Sadly, like most freedom's do, Matt's freedom did not last long enough to be fully enjoyed. Instead, midway into his relaxing Matt-time, the young brunette was stunned into reality by the overcast shadow of one such Adam Copeland.

"Hi there." The older man started off sardonically, "Mind if I join you?" He asked whilst taking a seat ahead of a now furious Matt Hardy. The expression brought a smile to Adam's face. "I always loved it when you got mad." He started –further agitating the younger man. "You look more lost than anything and I can't help but feel sorrier for you."

"What do you want Copeland?" Matt spat venomously. "You've been stalking about for hours now."

"Oh" Adam replied in false reaction. "So you did see me." He coughed up a smile. "I was beginning to feel a little left out."

"Cut the crap!" Matt snapped back with more power. His frown now threatening to spilt his head in two. "Just say what you have to say and leave me the hell alone!" He hissed.

"Touchy." After garnering nothing more than more expressive hate from Matt, the blond dropped the ball on sarcasm. "I just came by to ask you out for a date."

The utter coolness and ease behind the delivery shocked Matt even more than the actual question being asked. "W-What?" Matt started in disbelief.

"Matt," Adam drew in a silent breath "will you go out with me?"

Again, the question came from miles away only to find Matt Hardy already shocked into silence by the delivery system chosen by Adam Copeland. When light and sound speed caught up to the younger brunette he was in the same position that they had left him in. "What the hell?" Was all he had to say.

"Look, will you go out with me or not?" Adam asked more like he would normally. "Yes or no?"

Matt shook his head with the confused frown now returned to its former state. "No way! Are you kidding me? Why the hell would I want to date you?"

"Okay. Okay." Copeland craved a coy grin onto his face. "I just never asked you before now."

"And you thought _now_ would be better?" Matt intervened with no remorse. "_Now?_" He stressed. "Now after fucking years of torment... _now?" _A paused followed. "Now after I gave my heart to Jeff..._now?_" He shook his head again – this time more rapidly – along with his expression so as to draw up a new one that disregarded Adam's former lapse in judgment. "So why are you _really_ here Adam?"

"Adam." The older man repeated planting another confused look onto Matt's face. "I never thought I'd hear you say my name again."

"What the hell are you talking about? I always say your name."

A small, unadulterated smile hit Copeland's lips momentarily as his voice went a bit kind. "Not like that." He drew out a dramatic sigh once the pause had run its course. "Well, I think it's time I head out."

After a few seconds to collect, Matt finally found his thoughts. "Wait...is that it?" He asked suspiciously. "Is that all you came here to— is that all you wanted to say?"

"Yeah." The blond answered pointedly in a factual tone of voice. "That's it."

Astonishment hit Matt's face with the force of a boulder in free-fall. "Okay." He responded a bit waveringly. "I uh...guess I'll see you around then."

"Yeah. You will." Copeland responded lightly as he stood to his feet. The cheeky smile returning once the arrogance came back. "But that's only if I'm alive by the end of the night."

At first, the original confusion that stemmed from this entire conversation flash-flooded Matt's brain. However, the difference in Adam Copeland – visible since the words 'genuine' and 'Adam Copeland' were never married – and his last sentence, made the younger man think twice about the situation. In a short instant he was on his feet holding back the retreating arm of Adam Copeland.

The older man turned around slightly. "What is it?" He asked – barely able to keep the hope out of his voice.

"Listen to me you piece of shit!" Matt's anger blew away all anticipation that resided inside of Adam's mind. "I will not have you coming to me all apologetic-like today only to go jump off a bridge tomorrow! I won't allow you to give me that kind of guilt!"

"Wha—" Adam started.

"Shut it!" Matt intervened sharply with a finger thrust to the face of Copeland. "I refuse to have the death of a piece of trash like you on my conscience, so you better make sure you meet me at the coffee shop outside the arena _tomorrow_ at eight am sharp! Do you hear me?" Matt shouted into the listening ear of Copeland.

"Y-Yeah." Adam replied much later than required as confusion refused to let go anytime soon – as was the case with Matt's grip. "Uh..." The blonde dropped his eyes to Matt's hand only to raise them back up slowly, "...so it's a date then?"

"Yes— _No_!" Matt roared as he drew himself completely away from Copeland's body. "No way in hell!" He frowned at the man. "I just want to go over some strategies. That's all."

Another small smile –shy and not irritating – hit Copeland's lips as he let out a low scuff. "I see." He turned away yet again. "I better get going then." One foot did not make it past the next, before the owner turned his attention back to a now seated Matt Hardy. "See you tomorrow."

With that the older man left to join the crowd of exiting mall shoppers. A look of wishful thinking crossed Matt's eyes as he silently dreamed of being in that crowd – the crowd leaving this horrid place. However, the humor in it all did not last long as he found himself thinking quiet too deeply about Adam Copeland. Matt Hardy's nemesis had changed, and now it was just a question of what that change meant for the brunette. A thin smile hit Matt's face.

"See?" A chirpy voice came in from behind Matt forcing the man to drop all thoughtful expressions and turn sternly around. Matt Hardy was not one to support surprises. The face of his younger brother smiling playfully at him put him at ease. "I told you didn't I? I told you Adam looked lonely."

Matt gave Jeff a questioning look. "Yeah. So?"

Jeff's smile hit an all-time level on the childish meter. He looked too pleased for words. "I knew you'd talk to him."

* * *

Somehow, time had passed. It did not go by in the blink of an eye as most days did, yet it did not go by slowly enough to rival a snail's pace. It just went by. And night eventually came.

/What the hell was I thinking?/ This was the fifty-sixth time that that exact thought had crossed the mind of Phillip Brooks. Who was keeping count, was truly anyone's guess. /Why did I go off ranting my mouth?/ He asked the blank TV. /Why didn't I just shut up and let it happen?/ He blinked slowly in hopes that the night would suddenly turn to day. However, when the fleshy curtains lifted bright cerulean eyes spotted the same evening sky that had been hovering about for the past hour. Once again – maybe for the thousandth time – Phil turned to look at the bedroom door. It was still closed. And Mark Calaway was still waiting behind it. The feeling to stand – unlike the last many times – was strong to the point where the man actually felt like he could easily walk over to that damned door, open it and just let it all go.

However, it was in that thought that slept Phillip's real fear. Letting go. /No way!/ He turned his head back to look at the blank screen of the television. /I was a prostitute for crying out loud! There's no way in hell Mark really wants me. It's just a heat of the moment thing thanks to those sob stories./ He nodded to himself. /There's just no way he and I could really be together. I mean he's beyond wonderful and I'm.../ His eyes dropped a bit as the self-depreciation ate away at his core. /I'm just.../ A thick lump formed and dropped loudly down his throat only to disappear into unseen parts of his body. His eyes strayed once more to the closed room door.

Behind it – knowingly – was a man he dreamed of spending his life with for near a decade. Behind the wooden door there was the man who Phillip Brooks started liking on bare attraction, but soon fell in love with as more time passed by. Behind the would-be open door was the man that Phillip Brooks wanted more than anything else, and now had in his grasp. All he had to do now was open that door and take the man behind it.

/Why is this so damn difficult?/ Phil found himself glaring at curled fists seated on his lap. His levels of frustration were boiling over. The night was coming fast. The time to choose was running up. And here he was, still on the couch, staring at his bared knuckles as if they would magically give him an answer. /There's nothing left for him to save so why does he still—/ His own thoughts cut themselves short as another headache came onward. It was not in relation to his hangover, however if not for the fact that the pain was lesser than the one he felt earlier, Phillip Brooks would truly not have known the difference. /Just get up and go in there Phil!/ Motivation started to seep through. /Just get in there, and just let it be! Damn it! Just get up!/ He shouted to himself. /Get—/

A loud knock came to his ears. Instinctively Phil turned to look at the bed room door. It was still closed. Another knock came, this time drawing attention to the front door of the apartment. /Who the hell is that now?/ He stood up – much to his own anger seeing that the feat was near impossible just a few moments ago – and half-mindedly decided to ignore the visitor and take full use of the momentum and open the room door. The idea was thwarted by a third series of knocks. Phil marched over to the door and flung it open without a second thought.

The sound of the elevator slowly humming in a downward descent was all that echoed through the hallway. Phil frowned slightly as he glared down each end of the hallway. /What the—/ Once more, his thoughts were cut short but this time it was due to the sound of paper being crushed beneath his feet. He shot his eyes downwards and picked up the object. /A letter?/ After deciphering the obvious, Phil opened the folded paper to reveal two words written in plain bold:

**I'm sorry. **

/What?/ Phil asked the paper as he took another look down the empty hallways. Following the unsuccessful picking of his brain was the immediate disposal of the letter in the kitchen's garbage bin. Once that was done, the younger brunette locked eyes with his hour-long nemesis – the closed bedroom door. He filled his lungs to their limits with fresh air only to let it out sharply afterwords. /Here goes./

His hand barely nicked the shined edge of the door knob before it pulled inward and away from him. Before two words – or even a syllable –could cross the younger man's head, a pair of muscular arms wrapped around him and in the same breath, his lips were locked into a kiss from nowhere. It was only after the kiss had deepened and ended did Phillip Brooks realize that he was in the arms of Mark Calaway.

Phil opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came through the volunteered outlet. Instead, his body did the talking by first turning his expression into a look of utter pitiful hopelessness, and then filling his eyes with those accursed tears. The entire subconscious reaction brought a small smile to the stone face of Mark Calaway that even seemed to add a twinkle of youth to the man's shadowed eyes.

"Tell me something, Phil." He started in a gravelly whisper. "Why is it that every time I hold you, you start to cry?"

The welled-up tears fell almost on queue with the situation, and stained his already disheveled face. It took a while for the younger man to realize that Mark had been wiping them away. It was in that small moment that he found a voice to use. "W-What about the...deal?" He asked sounding out of breath.

"I was never a good gambler." Mark scoffed a bit before dropping another small kiss onto Phil's lips. "What took you so long though?"

In flashback mode, the last, long excruciating hour went by in mere seconds once replayed in the mind of Phillip Brooks. He thought of multiple ways to get around the fact that he had been sitting on the couch for an hour arguing with himself and the blank screen of the television.

The sound of Mark quietly sighing away alerted Phil to what he was doing right now and not an hour ago. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to." Decorating the sentence was another small smile from the older man. And a kind look embedded in those light jades.

Phil once more thought about his situation. /Just let it be./ He spoke calmly, however the idea of doing that would not fit with his conscience. Therefore, after a deep breath to collect a sense of control, Phil stared into the eyes of Mark Calaway. "I don't believe in luck, and all my life I knew she didn't believe in me either." The older man withdrew a bit – not relinquishing his hold however – to offer a surprisingly calm Phillip Brooks room to speak. "But then I met people in my life – good people – that saw me as more than just a pricy bang. It even escalated to some of them wanting to spend their lives with me. Wanting me to be theirs." His head hung a bit, "But then, amidst all the flattery, all the promises...they'd always say the same thing before or after dumping me for the next guy." He choked on an incoming breath of air, but forced his mind to clear itself of all disparaging thoughts. "I wish I had met you before you started doing this."

Due to his head being slightly bowed, Phil missed the shooting star pain that crossed the larger man's face.

After allotting himself time to regain his composure, Phil met the eyes of Mark Calaway yet again. "I was just afraid you'd say the same thing." His voice lowered a bit more. "That's why I took so long to get here."

On a high possibility, there were words that Mark Calaway could have said. Maybe a retaliation in the form of an "I'll never—" promise. Maybe a short piece of advice followed up by an "I love you". Maybe even the delivery of some cliche line-up in the form of "I don't think that way because right now, for the first time in my life I've won something. And that's you." All of those sentences–and even many more –made great candidates for the older brunette. However, because words were things that could only say so much and no more, Mark decided to go to a different route.

Using one hand, the older man gently cupped the back of Phil's upper neck and lower head area so as to better grip the injured man. And without saying anything – not even his top three candidates – Mark lowered his own head, and planted a loving kiss onto the younger man's bandaged forehead. When he pried his lips from the raw-edge fabric, the older man held Phil's small frame close with the force required to hold a priceless crystal.

With his voice in close range to Phil's ear, Mark then chose to speak once words justified themselves to him. "Come on." He stated lowly as he planted another short-lived kiss on the side of Phil's exposed neck. "Let me tuck you in."


	17. Jackpot For A Hard Hand

**Epilogue

* * *

**

Three months had gone by in the proverbial flash, only to see Mark Calaway – WWE Superstar and notorious gambler – back on the main event scene of Friday Nights. To say the man was disgruntled with the fact that he had to feud with the Straight-Edge Superstar was an understatement that brought forth many unsuccessful meetings with Vince McMahon - which surrounded the topic of a change in storyline.

Despite Mark's feelings towards the general idea, Phillip Brooks did not see much of a problem with feuding with his new found partner. On a professional level, the man found it quite intriguing to go up against the legendary Undertaker. However, when it came to the level of personal, even though the younger Brooks liked the idea of training with Mark Calaway on a daily basis, that's not to say that the brunette had any love for being on the receiving end of many of Mark's punches. After all, in his mind, once had been enough.

Conversely though, three months had –sadly – not changed the role of Glenn Jacobs. The younger brother of Mark Calaway was still very much stuck in the mud that was taking care of his older sibling. When yet another set of months of gym and doctor absences went by, Glenn took it upon himself to locate Mark once more and try to force the man into compliance. After all, the older man was instructed to take the time off to see his doctors and devise a work-out routine with his trainers. Unfortunately for Glenn, even though his brother was now back on the big screen, he had not, and still was not, fulfilling his instructions.

However, unlike the times before, Glenn did not have to seek out the yellow pages in order to locate nearby casinos, gambling houses and/or bars as a means to locating his older brother. Instead, the man now knew – based on his own investigation – that Mark was still very much living with Phillip Brooks.

"You need to start going to your doctor appointments." The younger man stated dryly. "And the gym."

Calaway took a heavy drink of the can of Pepsi that sat on the glass table. Due to Smack Down's move, the apartment they were in was a lot larger than the previous one; however it held much of the same bland decor. "And here I thought you wanted to wish me a happy birthday."

Glenn rolled his eyes to the Heavens before pulling out a drastic sigh. "Whatever." He glanced over his shoulder to spot Phillip Brooks busying himself with something in the kitchen before sliding his eyes back over to a comfortable Mark Calaway – who had a leg outstretched onto a nearby assoc. "So, I take it that you two are—"

Mark held the can midway to his mouth and stared at his brother – who simply stared back in wait. He drank the remainder of the liquid before resting the can back down onto the metal coaster that sat atop the small glass table. "Yeah. We are."

Glenn nodded in an attempt to add wisdom to the mix. "Then I take it that he's uh...taking good care of you then?"

Mark threw his brother a small smile. "Yeah. He is." His eyes headed back to the TV – that was rolling a few clips from an unrecognized, Old Western movie. It was a mystery as to how Mark had managed to locate a black-and-white movie on a High-Definition TV that sported over a thousand channels.

Glenn stared at the TV. "You know," He started off thoughtfully. "I'm not one to pry into your life Mark, but uh..." He swallowed thickly before drawing his eyes back to Mark – who was now staring at him. "What's...?" He shot out a raspy breath. "What's with the collar?"

To the mention, Calaway ran a finger across the side of the black, studded dog collar that clung tightly to his large neck, before letting out a short laugh as his mind wandered to places unknown by Glenn. "It was Jeff's idea of a gift." The ghost smile lingered onto his face. "And Phil said that I should wear it today."

The answer left a lump of further confusion on the lap of Glenn Jacobs, however noting that his brother did not further his explanation, the younger man left the response alone. "I see." Was all he could conjure up to bury the need to pry. After a long moment of pause, Glenn located something to declare. "Oh yeah," Mark dropped his eyes to him once the movie cut to a commercial. At the go sign that was Mark's attention, the younger brother continued. "I dropped that money into your account today, but apparently what was in there before is gone." He frowned a bit to Mark. "That was your savings Mark." His tone dropped onto ice. "Don't tell me that you gambled away the rest."

Calaway thought for a second before responding stoically. "I don't gamble anymore Glenn." His mood lightened a bit after making that statement known. "I just finally figured out what to do with that money."

Jacobs raised a brow upwards in unspoken question and held it there for a while, only to have the action go unrecognized. The atrocity forced him to turn to verbal means of expression. "What did you decide to do with it?"

A light, gentle smile cracked the otherwise granite face of Mark Calaway as he slid his eyes over the horizon of the leather couch to spot Phillip Brooks in the considerably larger kitchen currently trying in earnest to finalize dinner. The sunken jade eyes of the older man sat on a frantic Phillip Brooks for a considerably lengthy amount of time, before finally being drawn back to the still perplexed expression that rooted itself onto the face of Glenn Jacobs.

"You know something Glenn," He started unexpectedly; "there are times I'll find myself thinking a lot about the past. And then there are times I'll look at the present and try to comprehend how I got here with a back-story like mine. Then one day I decided to stop thinking, and just take that money and use it to invest in this future." He drew in a deep breath whilst in the motion of re-facing the TV – that had returned to showing the movie. "And what better way to start that than by giving Phil and I a place we can really call home?" He glanced to Glenn momentarily. "It's a three bedroom on Tampa's outskirts."

A short moment passed, before Mark's words finally sunk into Glenn's skull. His jaw slowly fled from its above companion as a look of incredulity hit Jacobs' expression. "You crafty, sneaky son of a bitch!" A small smile brightened onto the face of Glenn Jacobs as he playfully shoved his brother's shoulder to the edge of the leather couch. "I don't believe it..." He paused for a moment, "...Mark Calaway is finally dropping his anchor!" A light scoff passed by. "Well I hope you expect that- being your caretaker and all - I'll be visiting to make sure that you're okay. I mean..." Another thoughtful pause passed. "If Phil can get you wear that _ridiculous_ collar when you're living here; then I can't imagine what he'll do when you're living in a house cut off from the world."

Mark tilted a visible smile to the face of the scowling cowboy now casting a steely-eyed look into the distance. "Well—" He shrugged...and left it at that.


End file.
